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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770453">In Medias Res</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temeritous/pseuds/Temeritous'>Temeritous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Resurrection, SCORPIA Member Alex Rider, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, crack concept played straight, pongnosis' The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Universe, the John and Ian Rider story, you've been yanked into the future and your son/nephew is part of the organization that killed you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:00:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temeritous/pseuds/Temeritous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Things haven't been great since Ian woke up in captivity four days ago, and they're about to get worse. And a lot more confusing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Inspired Works</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prisoner of a long lost war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222295">The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pongnosis/pseuds/pongnosis">pongnosis</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><em>In medias res</em> is Latin for "into the middle of things." A term used for when a story begins in the middle of the plot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ian snapped to full awareness near instantly, the way he’d been trained. Following that same training, there was no outward indication that he was awake, aside from perhaps an excusable hitch of breath. He woke with the knowledge that someone’s footsteps had just stopped right outside the door of his cell.</p><p>It was a bare concrete box with a thin mattress set directly on the floor, a combination toilet/sink set into the opposite corner, and no other accommodations. So far, a solid four on Ian’s scale. They got extra points for giving him more than a bucket, but lost a lot on the lack of escape opportunities and not having a bedframe he could dismantle for weapons. </p><p>Three walls were bare gray concrete, cool but without the chill of a far northern or far southern climate. The last wall had a thick steel-plated door with a food slot at the bottom too narrow to fit more than a hand through, but most of that wall was taken up by a large one-way viewing glass.</p><p>The trick with that kind of glass was that the other side had to be kept dark for it to be very effective. Most of the time, the hall beyond was brightly lit and patrolled by guards; Ian had seen them and tracked their patterns. The rest of the hall was taken up by what looked like three other cells, all presumably with the same layout as his own, and all empty as far as he could tell.</p><p>The lights in his cell brightened past what they’d ever been before; Ian decided now was the time to ‘wake up’ and so he opened his eyes, sitting up wrapping the quilted blanket around his shoulders. He had some idea about throwing it over the heads of whoever came in to get him, if they did. If he thought he could escape.</p><p>But the hall beyond the window was dark, the mirror completely opaqued and showing only his own reflection.</p><p><em>There’s someone or something out there that they don’t want me to see</em>, Ian thought, squinting at the glass warily. He could hear the lowest murmur of voices. If he was closer to the door, he might be able to make them out.</p><p>Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Ian stood, blanket still wrapped over his shoulders, and moved closer to the mirror. He looked about as well as he felt, which was: not bad for being a captive for about four days, but still not great. He’d done his best to wash his hair in the tiny sink.</p><p>The voices dropped into a lull while he moved, then started back up when he stopped, standing in full view.</p><p>“Can he hear us?” asked one. Most likely male, and Ian couldn’t say why but he thought <em>young</em>. Speaking English with a London accent.</p><p>“Very probably, the cells are not soundproofed. If you like, I can have him moved farther away. Or we can take our conversation elsewhere.” Also male, older, speaking English with a French accent. His tone and words were… deferential. Suggesting, but leaving the decisions up to the younger man.</p><p>“No, I’m not done yet.” The answer came. “Ian Rider.” Ian tilted his head but otherwise kept his face impassive. <em>Yes, I can hear you. Tell me what you want. Tell me what I might be able to use against you</em>. The younger voice said, “117 Beaufort Street, Chelsea, London.”</p><p>Ian couldn’t have stopped his reaction even if he’d been prepared to hear something like that. The blood drained from his face at the same time as a jolt of adrenaline went straight to his legs. He staggered back a step, heart pounding.</p><p>It was no use trying to pretend anyway. If they knew the address, it was all lost. Alex and Jack were as good as dead.</p><p>Over the thunderous roaring of his own heartbeat, Ian almost missed the younger man saying, “Yes, that’s him.”</p><p>A test? They had tested his identity using his <em>address</em>? Ian breathed deeply, trying to re-center himself and gain back some of the control that had so quickly slipped away.</p><p>“You gave him quite a shock. What was that?” The older man’s voice was moving, going away.</p><p>The younger was following him. Ian could barely hear the response. “It’s where he, his housekeeper, and his nephew used to live.”</p><p>The other man chuckled with laughter.</p><p>Ian took a step back toward his mattress in a fugue. The blanket slipped from nerveless fingers, tangled around his bare feet, and sent him stumbling onto his knees. He didn’t get up, just twisted around to complete the fall back onto the mattress.</p><p>Four days. They knew who and what he was, and they had Alex. The interrogation would begin soon.</p><p>Ian sat there and tried not to think of anything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. enemy blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later that the lights—all of them, in Ian’s cell and in the hall beyond—flickered. They went completely dark for a full twenty seconds. Ian marked it, a burst of hope bubbling up in his chest. Maybe it was an attack, a rescue attempt—something he could use. But then the lights came back on, and the guards didn’t even stir. One came meandering down the hall right on time, glancing into Ian’s cell dully. The blackout was planned, or at least not unexpected.</p><p>Still, Ian might be able to use it. Darkness unsettled people. If it happened again, he would hide in the blind corner near the door, let the guard see an empty cell… It was better than nothing, and he no longer had anything to lose. If he couldn’t escape, he was at least confident that he could make them kill him.</p><p>Maybe another half-hour later, the doors at the far end of the hall banged shut, followed by a chorus of many footsteps.</p><p>“In there,” said the elder voice from before.</p><p>“Across from the other one?”</p><p>The group of them came into view; in the lead was a man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair, a widow’s peak so sharp it preluded balding, and a vaguely hawklike look to him. He was wearing a white lab coat, setting him apart from the guards in black armor, four of them dragging two prisoners in casual clothes. Three on one, one on the last—a man and a woman, respectively.</p><p>The scientist guy smirked, looking in Ian’s window and noticing his interest in the proceedings. “Why not? I’m sure they will have much to talk about.” He stood to one side so his men could throw the two new prisoners into the same cell.</p><p>The new prisoners were dead. Or ghosts. Or—clones, or something.</p><p>The cell door wasn’t even shut before Ian slammed both hands against his mirrored glass, shouting, “Hey! What the hell is this?” They were the first words he’d spoken in four days, breaking a sullen silence. He hadn’t had anything to say before, but now he had to know. You didn’t pull a trick like this <em>not</em> to gloat about it.</p><p>The scientist looked like he was about to leave without answering. Ian wrapped a corner of the blanket over his fist, wound back, and leaned into the punch with all his weight. The glass crunched and shattered under his knuckles—some of the knuckles probably broke too, not that Ian felt that at the moment—held up by the security mesh wound through the panes.</p><p>The scientist stopped, whirling on him. “Mister Rider,” he hissed. “You will control yourself, or you will be restrained. I have been kind to you so far. That does not need to continue.”</p><p>Then, for some reason, he looked off to the right. To the end of the hall, where the doors were, out of sight unless Ian put his face right up against the glass. Then he looked back with a mean smile. “Your life may be assured; your health is not.”</p><p>Ian filed that away for later; now that he had the man’s attention, he asked in a calmer tone, “What exactly is the game, here? That isn’t going to trick me,” he waved his bloodied hand at the other cell, dimly becoming aware of throbbing pain.</p><p>The scientist had a look of apathetic distaste. “None of this is about you, Mister Rider. If this were a game—which it is not—you would be less than a pawn. You’re the wrapping paper.”</p><p>With that cryptic comparison, the man turned and left. The doors banged shut behind him, closing on all the demands for more information that Ian was shouting at his back.</p><p>“Ian?” asked the ghost in the other cell. “Is that you?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Ian snapped at him—it? “You’re dead.”</p><p>“And you look like shit, too, but I wasn’t going to mention it. What the hell is going on? What… happened to you? And how did we get here?”</p><p>Ian turned to look at the person pretending to be his older brother, allowing the scorn to show openly on his face. He said in a low hiss, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but John Rider’s been dead for fourteen years. It’ll take a little more than some clever plastic surgery and a few days locked up to make me forget <em>that</em>.”</p><p>Whoever it was wearing John’s face, he’d studied well. He had the same tells down to the minutiae—the flicker of shock quickly gone, not hidden, merely assimilated. When John really wanted to hide his reactions, nobody saw them.</p><p>The familiar face said, slowly, “That would explain why you look so much… older. But not much else.”</p><p>“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Ian said, sliding down to sit on his knees leaning against the glass. He cradled his injured hand in his lap, checking the bones with the good one.</p><p>He knew he should have stood up, gone to the mattress, and done his best to ignore the other cell and its occupants. The two fakes—’John’ and ‘Helen,’ who had so far been silent held against not-John’s side protectively—were here for a reason, probably to pump Ian for information. Or as a psychological ploy to weaken his mind; in which case it was definitely working, because even knowing that, he couldn’t pull himself away from the glass or take his eyes off John’s face.</p><p>Soon, he was going see something that would prove this wasn’t John. He couldn’t look away until he knew.</p><p>“Fair enough,” John said. “I’m not going to tell you anything either. Honey, what’s the last thing you remember?”</p><p>This was addressed to the woman, who took a deep calming breath and replied, a little tightly, “We were on the plane to France. Something happened to the plane, the pilot said something to us, and then a bright light. I woke up next to you in that… tank.”</p><p>Ian’s jaw refused to unclench, and it had nothing to do with his bruised knuckles. She might have been describing his own experience, swapping in the plane for his car. He’d been driving, and then the whole car went dark, as if hit with one of Smithers’ EMP pulses. There’d been a flash of bright light and then he woke up in a tiny room completely enclosed in thick, clouded glass. The walls had opened up, pulling away on massive articulated mechanical arms to reveal a much larger room with concrete walls, and he hadn’t seen anything else before one of the eight men converging on him stuffed a thick black bag over his head.</p><p>“Yes, that’s exactly what I remember as well,” the man in the other cell said. “Ian. What did you mean when you said I’ve been dead for fourteen years?”</p><p>“Exactly what part of it didn’t make it through your thick head?” Ian said through gritted teeth.</p><p>“I’m beginning to think that really is your brother,” the woman murmured to her fake husband.</p><p>“The dead part, mostly,” not-John replied, with a flicker of a smile at the woman against his side.</p><p>What the hell. It was the equivalent of ancient history in the spy world; everyone who was anyone knew that John Rider and his family had been killed in that bomb. Up until a few hours ago, Ian would have sworn that those same people thought Alex had died in the explosion as well; it was what had protected him so far.</p><p>“John and Helen Rider died in an explosion on their way to France. SCORPIA planted a bomb on their plane as revenge for Hunter’s betrayal.”</p><p>The woman grabbed for and held the man’s hand in both of hers with a white-knuckled grip. Ian wished he hadn’t noticed it. “What about Alex,” she demanded in a rush, kneeling up to press against the glass. “What happened to Alex?”</p><p>This was obviously the start of the real interrogation, the part where they tried to get information out of him willingly. But Ian was also looking at Helen’s agonized face as she begged to know what had happened to her son, and… it wasn’t as if he could damn the boy any more than he already was. They knew his home address. The house was basically unprotected; it relied on anonymity for safety.</p><p>“I raised him,” Ian said. Not a word about Alex’s training—that might still be an ace in the hole. The boy was smart, fast, and best of all <em>lucky</em>. He might still get away. That was Ian’s only hope. “He was fine when I last saw him five days ago.”</p><p>“What date is it?” not-John asked.</p><p>This fit in with the line that they were clearly trying to sell him, but it was more useless information. “If they’ve been feeding me on a regular schedule, June 7th, 2010.”</p><p>“May 15th,” not-Helen whispered. Ian had to read her lips to ‘hear’ it. “1996.”</p><p>“The ides of May,” Ian heard himself saying without meaning to speak. It was Jack’s stupid joke to explain why he got irritable around the anniversary. It proved nothing that ‘Helen’ knew the date.</p><p>Not-John nodded once, sharply. “So the story as we are expected to believe it is that our plane exploded in 1996, we were presumed dead for… fourteen years… and we woke up seconds later in 2010 in what looked like some sort of laboratory. Also being held in captivity is my younger—now, technically, <em>older</em>—brother.” He looked at Ian. “Do you know why <em>you’re</em> here?”</p><p>Ian shrugged noncommittally. Definitely-not-John rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, so you don’t. So… the doctor, what he said to you about his game. You’re just the wrapping paper.”</p><p>Ian didn’t see where the guy was going with this, which was an unfortunately familiar feeling whenever his brother started extrapolating things. He’d forgotten how much he hated it. And it was worse knowing that this wasn’t even his brother.</p><p>“Wrapping paper—you look at it, then you throw it away. It’s just… presentation.” Not-Helen volunteered.</p><p>“And it’s likely we’re in the same boat. Just presentation. Just… proof... of concept.” Not-John trailed off, his mouth dropping open. His eyes, which had dropped to stare at the hall floor while he was thinking, flicked up to meet Ian’s. “Ian, what’s the last thing you remember before you were brought here?”</p><p>Ian was done talking. He pressed his lips together and just stared.</p><p>“Aquamarine, you bloody little twat! <em>Tell</em> me!”</p><p>It felt like he’d just been kicked in the chest for the second time in only a few hours; all the air rushed out of his lungs. That was the code word, the last one he and John had set up, only a week before the plane. Through a dry mouth, Ian said, “Cobalt. And—asp.” Asp, Ian’s half of the second-to-last code word.</p><p>“Page,” John answered. “And, before you ask, castle, shiver, trainwreck, speaker.”</p><p>That was more than even Ian remembered; but then it had been over fourteen years for him, and far less than that for John. He pressed his forehead against the glass and said, “It can’t be you. It can’t be. How?”</p><p>“How’d you get here?” John asked in return.</p><p>“I was driving. The car went dark, there was this—feeling, I think, and then a bright flash of light. I woke up in the same room Helen described earlier, that lab.”</p><p>“What sort of feeling?”</p><p>Ian shook his head. “I don’t even know. It lasted less than half a second, then the light flashed.”</p><p>John glanced down at Helen, who’d hidden her face against his neck. “I think I know what happened,” he said, almost too quiet for Ian to hear through the glass and space separating them. He looked back up to Ian. “I don’t think you made it out of that car alive.”</p><p>Ian didn’t know what he could say to that, so he just sat there, waiting.</p><p>“You say that we died, but here we are. Our arrival happened just before the time of our supposed death, from our perspective, at least. And you arrived here the same way—right before, in the eyes of the wider world, you died.”</p><p>Ian looked around his cell again. “Not what I expected of hell, to be honest. A lot fewer pitchforks, not so much fire… it gets chilly at nights.”</p><p>John smiled grimly. “Ian, I truly do hope we’re in hell. Because the alternative is that that mad scientist figured out some form of time travel, and the three of us are his proof that it works. Two dead MI6 agents that no one will come looking for and—no offense, dear—some nearby collateral.”</p><p>“Some taken,” Helen muttered into John’s chest. He dropped a kiss against the top of her head.</p><p>“There are a lot of dead MI6 agents, though,” Ian pointed out. “Why us two? Two people nearly guaranteed to be able to identify each other?”</p><p>John pursed his lips. “They could be relying on that for some other piece of their plan. Or it could be that we’ve made the same enemies fourteen years apart—you were still working for Six at the time?” Ian nodded. “Anybody big you’d pissed off?”</p><p>“My only open file was not someone who would even have known your name. But… I did think that someone bigger was backing him. I was on that trail when,” Ian gestured with his uninjured hand, miming burst of light with his fingers.</p><p>John started to say “Could it have been—” and was cut off when the lights went dark, throwing them all into darkness so complete that Ian couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.</p><p>A bit of light spilled in from the end of the hall when the doors down there opened smoothly on oiled hinges, then the light came on in John and Helen’s cell, brightening to a near blinding degree. They wouldn’t be able to see anything but their own mirrored reflections, though Ian could see them both quite clearly without even his own ghosted reflection in the way. John dropped his head to whisper something to Helen, who curled up further, scrubbed at her eyes to redden them, and put on a weepy expression.</p><p>He must have told her to look pathetic; sympathetic to anyone not an actual sadist. Ian approved.</p><p>Her preparations were just in time. A figure came into view, silhouetted against the bright rectangle of light so starkly that Ian couldn’t make out colors or individual features. His footsteps were completely silent, unlike the businesslike click of the doctor’s. Ian cupped his hands against the glass around his eyes, ignoring the painful protest from his knuckles. The figure was most likely male, or a very mannish woman; not unusual in his line of work. There was something unfinished about the silhouette, proportions not all lined up. A young man with some growing yet to do.</p><p>His suspicions were confirmed when the figure pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, a strange one with a glowing screen that took up the entire face, raised it to his ear and said, “I’m at the cell. The area is clear.” It was the young man from before, with the doctor. After a pause he said, “Yes sir.”</p><p>He took the phone from his ear and pressed an icon in the face, then turned one end of it toward John’s cell.</p><p>“I am addressing this question to the man claiming to be John Rider.” The voice on the other end of the phone was deep and even, calm, grave. Ian felt an involuntary shiver go down his spine. That voice was the last thing a lot of people heard, he was sure.</p><p>John didn’t react at all, not even to feign confusion. That was a bad sign.</p><p>The voice asked, “What is Yassen Gregorovich’s birth name?”</p><p>“...Yasha,” John said after a moment of tense, heavy silence. “What’s today’s date, Yasha?”</p><p>“It is January 10th, 2014,” the voice on the phone said. “Orion.”</p><p><em>It’s been four years</em>, Ian thought dizzily. The young man pulled his phone back and took it off speaker, putting it to his ear again as he walked away. Ian heard him say, “So, Yasha?” before the doors slammed shut behind him. The lights flicked on.</p><p>“Before you got here, they knew my address,” Ian said woodenly. “Where I live—where Alex lives. Lived. Four years ago.”</p><p>Helen didn’t have to fake this gasp and the fear that followed. John smoothed a hand over her hair, looking into the middle distance. Ian didn’t like the look on his face.</p><p>He said, “It’s SCORPIA.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. truth's strangest face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours passed. Ian had been tracking time by his meals—three per day, all TV dinner garbage that had been microwaved right before it was slid through the slot into his cell—but that rhythm had been thrown off by all the recent excitement. No guards had come to feed them lunch or dinner, and Ian’s stomach was telling him they were far overdue.</p><p>“Tell me they’ve been feeding you,” John was saying when the doors at the end of the hall opened.</p><p>Both he and Ian came to attention, standing up and nearly leaning against the glass to peer down the still-lit hall.</p><p>“Back up,” the man in the lead ordered, motioning for both of them to back away from the glass. He was in black armor, but not the same sort worn by the guards Ian had seen so far. His was thicker, looked more expensive, and had SCORPIA logos on the shoulders and chest. He said, loud and clear, “Get on your knees, facing away from the door, hands on your head. Cooperate and this will go much smoother for everyone. Try anything, and I’ve got two men with tasers and itchy trigger fingers who would just love to use them.”</p><p>Ian had caught a glimpse of said men, positioned at the far end of the hall. Taser guns were non-lethal, which meant they wanted their prisoners alive, and also wouldn’t be shy about accidentally firing on their own people. Ian saw the soldiers before he turned and did as instructed; they had weapons on them, knives and guns, but all were secured in holsters fastened shut. There would be no quick struggle for a gun.</p><p>The cell door opened and two pairs of feet tromped in. Someone grabbed Ian’s wrists and cuffed his hands behind his back with thick plastic ties; the other one shoved a black bag over his head and pulled a drawstring around his neck.</p><p>“Up, and walk,” an ungentle hand on his bound wrists was his only guide.</p><p>“Ian?” John’s voice came out of the dark. </p><p>“Here.”</p><p>“No talking,” one of the soldiers grunted, gripping the back of Ian’s neck.</p><p>“Wait, please—my wife. She’s not a threat to anyone. I get the bags, but can you let her hold my hand? Please.”</p><p><em>Smart</em>, Ian thought. Then he felt a pang of guilt—John wasn’t asking because he thought Helen might be useful, he was probably asking because she was terrified out of her mind. This was her worst nightmare come true.</p><p>“Commander?” One of the soldiers said.</p><p>“Cuff one hand to her husband’s. Ma’am, please don’t do something stupid and make us shoot you.”</p><p>“I’ll do my best,” Helen replied shakily.</p><p>The hand still on the back of Ian’s neck pushed him forward, propelling him down the hall. They went through two turns, then up a long flight of stairs, before coming out into a large open space—not outside, there was definitely an echo bouncing off a distant ceiling. The scent of motor oil and gasoline—a garage. They were being transported somewhere else.</p><p>“—it <em>is</em> amazing, like something out of science fiction. SCORPIA is looking forward to working with you, Doctor Fabrice.” That was the voice of the kid with the cell phone.</p><p>“And I with you, Orion. I wish now that I had not hesitated when Weiss recommended that we contact you. Perhaps if I had, he would still be with me today.” That was the mad scientist, sounding remorseful.</p><p>“That‘s sadly likely. SCORPIA has security specialists, which Weiss was not. He was an excellent operative in other ways. We had him on a list for potential recruitment.”</p><p>“Oh? Did you work with my Weiss?”</p><p>“I never had the opportunity, but I’ve spoken to an operative who did. He had nothing but good things to say.”</p><p>“Yes, a good man… ah, your men are here.”</p><p>“Commander. Any trouble?”</p><p>“Meek as lambs, sir. They’re definitely planning something.”</p><p>Since his face was unseen, Ian allowed himself a grimace of offense. Meek as lambs, indeed.</p><p>“They wouldn’t be Riders if they weren’t,” Orion replied. “Load them up. <em>Gently</em>, Shale.”</p><p>The grip on Ian’s neck, which had slowly progressed from firm to nearly crushing, loosened considerably. “Sorry boss,” the soldier muttered.</p><p>“Your interest in the prisoners is understandable—I was even counting on it—but for my own curiosity I must ask—is the interest for yourself, or for SCORPIA?”</p><p>“Step up, bit higher than your knee,” the soldier Shale said, pulling Ian to a stop in front of something.</p><p>Ian lifted his foot, at the same time trying to keep track of the conversation still going on behind him.</p><p>“They’re one and the same, doctor. I <em>am</em> SCORPIA.”</p><p>If anything more was said, Ian couldn’t hear it as he was guided into what he thought was the back of a shipping truck.</p><p>The vehicle’s suspension rocked slightly as more bodies climbed in after, revealing by sheer number that it was a large truck, and had apparently been retrofitted for SCORPIA’s purposes, probably as a disguised troop transport. Ian was guided to a bench seat and buckled in place by a <em>very friendly</em> harness. His soldier Shale took a seat on the left close enough he could feel his presence.</p><p>Ian tilted his head around, trying to hear if John and Helen had been brought to the same vehicle. Not a moment later, John protested the harness with a joking, “At least buy me dinner first.”</p><p>It sounded like he was on the same bench seat as Ian, separated by empty space. Helen must have been right next to him, unless they’d been cut away from each other.</p><p>A soldier said from further down the bench, “Ma’am, if you’ll just reach between your legs for the buckle and hold it up for me… Thank you.”</p><p>One of the others let out an explosive sigh and said, “What a clusterfuck. I can’t believe he wasn’t insane.”</p><p>“<em>Jarek</em>.” That was the Commander’s voice, in a distinctly warning tone. That made at least four in the truck, plus the driver.</p><p>“Shutting up, sir.”</p><p>The floor moved again briefly, then came the loud noise of the doors being closed. Orion called, “Let’s get moving,” and the truck rumbled to life. The noise was much quieter than expected—soundproofed, most likely. So that no one could hear any screaming.</p><p>Ian leaned back against the wall of the transport, finding it soft and padded. Another mark in the soundproofed column. He wanted to talk to John and could only imagine the feeling was worse for his brother. John had missed fourteen years. Ian had used their time so far to update him on the broadest strokes of what he’d missed—Alex’s favorite subjects in school, the sports he liked, his hobbies and friends he’d made. Ian hadn’t spoken about his job at all; their cells weren’t exactly a secure location.</p><p>They’d been driving for only a few minutes when the voice identified as Orion finally spoke up.</p><p>“I believe you’ve figured it out by now,” he began. His tone was the same measured, even pace as the one on the phone—the assassin Yassen Gregorovich. “That you all were taken from the moment of your deaths, transported here to 2014.”</p><p>“It’s a little hard to believe,” said John.</p><p>“Yes. But it seems like I have no other choice.” Orion sounded pensive. Thoughtful. “I do have one question for you, Ian. About your nephew.”</p><p>“Don’t hold your breath,” Ian shot back.</p><p>“Who did you plan to take care of him in the event of your death? Who did you leave as his guardian?”</p><p>Ian could almost feel John’s eyes boring a hole in the side of his head, even through two blindfolds. That topic had not come up when they were talking.</p><p>The intel was four years old and this Orion had already revealed himself to know more about Ian than even some people he worked with. “He was left with enough money to apply for emancipation, with our housekeeper to stay on until he turned eighteen.”</p><p>The truck fell into silence broken only by the distant growl of the engine.</p><p>“That’s a shit plan, E.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sorry that you weren’t around to consult on it,” Ian snapped, twisting his head to face in John’s general direction.</p><p>“I know you used to have trouble making friends but I thought—”</p><p>Incensed in the way only John had been able to make him, Ian jerked against the harness and the plastic restraints, hoping for enough slack to hit John just a little. “I cannot believe I missed you for even a moment—”</p><p>“Shut! Up!” Orion ordered. Shale jerked Ian back upright.</p><p>The ploy hadn’t earned them much. Ian’s movement hadn’t brought him to any conveniently sharp edges to rub his restraints against, and he’d just confirmed that the harness was basically another set of restraints. Ian hoped John got more out of it.</p><p>“Where is Alex?” Ian asked. The information would be helpful in a number of ways: if they knew and told him, if they implied to know and refused to say, if they didn’t know and didn’t care to… Any answer would be telling.</p><p>So of course Orion didn’t answer right away.</p><p>There was a click and a creak as he unbuckled his own harness and stood. There was no tracking him through the truck; his steps were as silent now as they had been back in the doctor’s lab. Then his voice came from right in front of Ian.</p><p>“After Yassen killed you in London, MI6 told Alex that you’d died in a car crash. You weren’t wearing your seatbelt, they said. Well, that was bullshit, and he knew it. You always wore your seatbelt. So he investigated using the skills you taught him, MI6 found him snooping in your old office at the bank, and Alan Blunt saw an opportunity.”</p><p>A chill dripped from Ian’s scalp down his spine.</p><p>Ruthless Orion continued, “He claimed that you’d left Alex’s guardianship to the bank in your will. He gave Alex a choice: use his skills to complete the operation that got you killed, or Blunt would take the house, deport Jack, and put Alex in the foster system someplace far away from home and all his friends.”</p><p>There was the sensation of movement in front of him. Ian imagined it was Orion leaning in. “Did you know what kind of man you were working for?”</p><p>Ian swallowed thickly and said, “It’s a cute story, but a tad unrealistic. It’s going to take a bit more than words to believe. What’s your proof?”</p><p>He flinched reflexively when cold fingers brushed against his throat, but it was just someone pulling loose the drawstring cord of the bag over his head.</p><p>“I did three missions for them before Yassen came to offer me a way out.” The hood was pulled off from the top, carefully so that the grip didn’t catch in Ian’s short hair. “Do you think I would have chosen SCORPIA if there were any other good options?”</p><p>Ian stared, feeling clouded and numb. There was Orion, the SCORPIA operative. And there was <em>Alex</em>, four years older and a decade more aged, wearing SCORPIA’s logo on his chest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. your prodigal son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I should note that I'm American and do not have a beta or britpicker, so I will be using the wrong words for stuff from a British POV. One that's obvious and which I'm trying to keep an eye out for is mum instead of mom. I won't be using the word lorry because I can't take it seriously.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex had lost the last traces of soft childish features, grown into his father’s face. For a moment Ian could only see John in his youth, but John had never looked quite like this, with hollow cheeks and the faintest shadow of a sleepless bruise under each eye. He was taller than he had been, broader, entirely lacking in the gangly gracelessness of youth. He looked tired and restless, hands staying near his holstered gun and knife more often than not. He looked like it had been a lot longer than four years.</p><p>Ian kept staring in stunned silence as Alex moved down the line, removing John and Helen’s hoods. As he did, he greeted them with a wry smile each: “Dad. Mum. Nice to meet you.”</p><p>John shot a glance Ian’s way. Ian met his eyes and shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know. It looked like Alex. It sounded like Alex, or like Alex plus four years, the end of puberty, and a lot of stress.</p><p>Whatever John truly thought of that, it didn’t show. He turned to Alex with a crooked grin of his own, said, “Feels like just yesterday you were small enough to fit in one arm.”</p><p>One of the soldiers snorted, quickly covering it up with a cough under a glare from his commander. Alex wasn’t as restrained; he laughed fully and no one scolded him for it.</p><p>“Sir,” the commander interrupted, darting a significant look between Alex and an empty seat on the bench. “Mister Gregorovich would not be happy if we let you concuss yourself because of a pot hole and Ivey’s shit driving.”</p><p>Ivey muttered something from the driver’s seat.</p><p>Alex sighed and sat down, buckling himself in. “Speaking of, I’ll need two of Sagitta to meet Yassen and Danube at the airport. They’ll be on an early flight in.”</p><p>“Two?” the commander tilted his head towards where the adult Riders were listening in.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Marcus, did you think that me and most of a SCORPIA combat team might not be able to handle two tied-up agents and a nurse? No offense, ma’am.”</p><p>“You can just call me mum,” Helen said quietly.</p><p>“I think that they’re Riders,” Marcus replied dryly. “I’ve learned to be cautious. Plus, I’ve heard of Hunter.”</p><p>Alex rolled his eyes. “Two. I’m calling in the extra teams as soon as we get back to base. They’ll be securing Fabrice’s exfil. God only knows where to, I’ll have to figure out where to put him once I’ve got a secure connection again.”</p><p>“I’m flattered, at least,” John told Marcus earnestly. “And proud that someone’s been keeping up the family name.”</p><p>Marcus eyed him, then grunted and turned away.</p><p>John shrugged it off, undeterred. He tilted his head at Alex and said still in that friendly tone, “So, SCORPIA?”</p><p>Alex bit his lip on what looked like a smile. “SCORPIA,” he agreed, stonewalling the attempt to begin a conversation.</p><p>John gave him a look that said <em>I see what you’re doing and I don’t approve</em>. Alex returned one that said <em>what are you going to do about it?</em></p><p>“Ian, I never got to see my son grow up,” John said, turning to Ian. “Do you have any embarrassing stories from when he was a little kid?”</p><p>Ian felt a red flush creeping up his neck; Alex laughed again. He said to John, “That would require Ian to have been present. He was away on missions most of the time, and when he was around I was on best behavior. I used to think if I was good enough he wouldn’t leave again so soon.”</p><p>John didn’t quite manage to hide his reaction to that, although Ian couldn’t track any definite emotion. He wasn’t pleased, though. John turned a chilly look on his brother, raised his eyebrows. <em>Explain</em>.</p><p>Alex waved to regain their attention. “You can relax, Hunter. I don’t resent Ian for the way he raised me. He did the best he could with what he had. I already asked him the only question I needed to know.”</p><p>“Did you really think I willed you to MI6?” Ian asked.</p><p>Alex met Ian’s eyes. All expression dropped off his face. He said, “I didn’t know what to think. At the time, I was finding out that I didn’t really know you at all. And Blunt had the papers to prove it, although part of me always thought he’d find it child’s play to forge something like that.”</p><p>“He wasn’t that much of a bastard when I knew him,” John offered.</p><p>“He got worse,” Ian said sullenly. “Although apparently I didn’t realize how much worse.”</p><p>Alex said, “He’s the one person in the world I would not mind handing over to Doctor Three.”</p><p>Ian and John didn’t exchange a look, but Ian certainly felt the impulse and thought John had as well. John said, “So not much has changed in SCORPIA’s hierarchy, then?”</p><p>Alex tipped a hand from side to side. “Not much until about a year and a half ago. They voted Yassen onto the board, and then he and I started killing the other board members. It’s just Yassen and Doctor Three left. We have an arrangement.”</p><p>“So… what’s SCORPIA’s current policy on dead-and-resurrected traitors?” Ian closed his eyes for a second, wishing dearly to kick his brother.</p><p>Luckily, the new Alex seemed as amused by the question as the old Alex would have been. “It’s not a problem that’s come up often, so we’re taking it on a case-by-case basis. In this case, as long as you don’t do anything <em>truly</em> stupid, you should make it out of this alive.”</p><p>“Uh huh. And about how long will that take?”</p><p>“That question has to go to Yassen.”</p><p>John’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “I always knew he’d go far—if he survived. He’s the one who brought you into SCORPIA?”</p><p>Alex nodded. “Yeah. A couple months after Ian died. He trained me up to his standard and took me as his partner after I graduated Malagosto.”</p><p>“Malagosto is still around?” John asked, sounding surprised. It had to be an act; he’d had less than a day to get used to the idea that he was eighteen years into the future, he couldn’t have internalized it that fast.</p><p>Alex’s eyes went distant and soft, as if he was looking back at a fond memory. “Yeah. They’ve moved since you taught there, of course, but it’s the premier school for assassins in the world.” Alex glanced at Ian for a second. “Even Jack didn’t mind it there.”</p><p>“Jack?” Ian blurted. “She’s alive?”</p><p>“Yes, not for lack of some people’s trying. Kurst—I’m sure you remember him, he was on SCORPIA’s board—kidnapped her and tried to order me to kill her. So I killed him. It all worked out eventually, he was the second to last of the old board. Yassen got Mikato a few days later. Still, her connection to me is a little too well known, so she went to Malagosto for protection and training. She’s working for SCORPIA now.” Alex’s fingers tapped against one knee thoughtfully. “Depending on how the rest of this goes, you might get to see her. If she wants to. She holds you a lot more responsible than I do.”</p><p>Ian bit the inside of his mouth and looked away. He knew why Jack might blame him; the same reasons he blamed himself. But he was self-aware enough to know he couldn’t have done much differently. Espionage was in his blood; there was no denying it.</p><p>“Excuse me,” John interrupted. Ian saw an unholy delight in his eye. That was the same glint John used to get before loudly and publicly demanding to know Ian’s entire history with any girl he so much as smiled at. “Who is this Jack?”</p><p>Alex snorted. He and Ian said in chorus, one significantly more sour than the other, “Our <em>housekeeper</em>.”</p><p>Alex added, “Jack’s told me she wouldn’t have slept with him for any amount of money in the world.”</p><p>“He gets that a lot.” John said, nodding sagely.</p><p>Ian turned to Shale next to him. “If you could just shoot me right now, I think I’m ready to be put out of my misery.”</p><p>Shale agreeably started to unholster his weapon. Alex chided, “Don’t tempt him.” A slight pause, his head tilted to one side to listen to the radio in his ear. “The base is clear. Let’s get moving.”</p><p>Alex unbuckled his harness and stood, one hand on the wall behind him for stability as the truck rolled over uneven road. John’s head tracked him up, mouth opening to say something. Alex drew the gun at his hip and fired at John.</p><p>Ian jerked forward with a wordless shout, reacting before he could process that there hadn’t been any deafening crack of gunfire. It was a dart—a tranq or sedative—sticking out of his brother’s neck. John looked almost comically surprised as he slumped forward against his harness. His head lolled down, then up, then down again as if he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, and he made a puzzled groaning noise.</p><p>“Jesus, boss, a little warning,” Marcus muttered, unbuckling his own harness.</p><p>“What the fuck, Alex?” Ian asked, still getting his breath back. He noticed that Helen hardly seemed surprised; more resigned than anything.</p><p>“He slipped his ties, probably when he and Ian staged that little scuffle,” Alex explained blandly, holstering his gun. The other soldiers stood as well, Shale shaking out the blindfold hood. “Sorry, Hunter, but I promised Yassen I’d keep you safe until he got here.”</p><p>John slurred something almost completely incoherent at the floor, his unbound arms sliding out from behind his back limply. Helen, being the closest and most familiar with him, translated: “He said ‘Good, I want to talk to him too.’ Paraphrasing.”</p><p>The bag went back over Ian’s head.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're wondering and didn't catch on to the sequence of events, John slipped the ties before they found out that Alex is Alex, when he thought it was just generic evil SCORPIA who they needed to escape from ASAP.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the dumb few that forgave us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To those of you who are excited to see Yassen... I'm sorry but he won't be appearing until chapter 7. I have more character interactions to get through first. I like making people talk to each other in tense and strained situations, OK??</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It came off only a few minutes later, which told Ian that they mostly didn’t want their prisoners seeing outside. Notable landmarks nearby? Overly cautious? It was food for thought.</p><p>Despite everything that had been revealed, it wasn’t in Ian’s nature to trust his captor’s word that he would be getting out alive. Alex might not have a say in the matter. </p><p>The ‘base’ was set up in a shut-down fitness gym, various pieces of equipment still stationed around the wide-open main room. A quarter-mile running track circled around the perimeter of the room, most of the machines taking up the middle. One wall made of mirrors stood opposite a wall of boarded-up windows, the edges sealed with dark paper so that not a single beam of light made it through. Ian looked, but none of it was newspaper; he still couldn’t even guess what country they were in.</p><p>Alex waved at the main room. “Tie them to one of the pillars, clear a space around them. If half of what I’ve heard about Hunter is true, he’ll be more trouble yet.”</p><p>“Hey,” Ian protested. He felt he was being overlooked here. Eighteen years later and still in his brother’s shadow.</p><p>“Take Ian to the showers in the locker room,” Alex added, wrinkling his nose and grinning at Ian.</p><p>Ian thought about commenting on that—something about the pot, kettle, and Alex leaving his filthy football things laying on the floor—but decided not to. He really wanted a shower. The tiny sink in his old cell didn’t rate.</p><p>Alex disappeared down a short hall containing what probably used to be management offices and personal training rooms. Shale and one of the other soldiers escorted Ian into the men’s locker room and the shower stalls beyond. Ian clocked exits and features automatically: only one way out, two small windows on either side near the ceiling made of thick, warped glass cubes so that they allowed light to come in but were impossible to look through, five showers on either side of a main aisle. The showers were partitioned into two sections each separated by a plastic blue curtain, the initial section with a bench and hook for clothes or a towel, the back section being the actual shower stall.</p><p>While Ian was subtly scoping out the room, Shale had turned to the other soldier and asked, “Do you want to watch him?”</p><p>The other guy snorted. “Not my type. Hey, Rider, if you promise not to try to smuggle the shower head out in your ass, we’ll let you have a little privacy.”</p><p>“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.” Ian’s reply was as dry as a desert.</p><p>Shale went ahead into one of the stalls, emerging after a moment to report, “All clear. You’ve got ten minutes.”</p><p>“Can I have some soap at least?”</p><p>Shale smirked at him. With mock-earnest concern, he insisted, “Haven’t you heard? It’s bad for your skin. <em>Au naturel</em> is the way to go nowadays. Nine minutes thirty seconds.”</p><p>It hadn’t been nearly thirty seconds, but Ian got the picture. He stepped into the stall, pulled the first curtain closed, and started stripping.</p><p>Approximately nine minutes later he emerged, hair dripping onto a now-soaked shirt. He’d used the shirt to dry himself off for lack of an actual towel, knowing it would be more comfortable to be damp on only the upper half of his body. It was also less than comfortable to go right back into dirty clothes, but Ian wasn’t exactly eager to get into any SCORPIA logo spares they might have laying around. He briefly bemoaned the loss of his shoes four days earlier; it would be an extra difficulty to stage an escape barefoot, which was of course why they’d done it.</p><p>Back out in the main room, Ian found John holding court with the SCORPIA team, telling them about some mission or another. Helen was next to him, one wrist again attached to John’s while the other was allowed free. That was a consistent oversight but not likely one they could take advantage of.</p><p>John usually liked to use his hands when he talked, but with them being restrained behind his back and around a metal support pillar, he was stuck gesturing with his head and shoulders. It gave him an animated, almost manic edge, reinforced by the fact that someone had taken his socks and shoes as well.</p><p>“And that was when I found out that the intel was so incomplete we had <em>no</em> idea about the crocodiles. Or alligators? I can never remember the difference.” John explained. “Luckily, they were pretty sleepy, and I’m a fast swimmer. So me coming through woke them up and got them a little riled, and then when the other guys came chasing after me,” John bared his teeth and snapped them together. “Well, let’s just say pursuit stopped there.”</p><p>“Christ, and I thought <em>our</em> Rider was bad,” one of the soldiers said, leaning back with an alarmed expression.</p><p>“Well, it’s no dinosaur-infested waters, but you remember him with those hyenas,” another one replied with a knowing look. “I thought they might try to adopt him. Or he might want to take that one with us.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em> that mission.” Shale commented as he pushed Ian down next to the nearest support pillar nearby and got another set of plastic ties out.</p><p>“Hyenas?” John asked with innocent curiosity, leaning forward.</p><p>“Uhhh…”</p><p>One soldier hit another on the arm, jerking his head toward the hall. Ian twisted around against his pillar to see Alex and Marcus emerging from one of the rooms, Marcus’ head bent toward Alex slightly to say something in a low voice. Alex stopped at the end of the hall, looking over the group of soldiers with narrowed eyes. They shifted guiltily.</p><p>Alex’s gaze landed on Ian, sharpening. He growled, “<em>Marcus</em>.”</p><p>Marcus went into action immediately. “Shale, Jarek, get him into clean and <em>dry</em> clothes. Ivey, Adams, with me. Mace and Aranda, how about you actually guard the prisoners instead of socialize with them?”</p><p>“Something to eat would be appreciated,” John called as the soldiers scattered.</p><p>Alex checked his wristwatch for the time, blinked, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He said into his hand, “Mace, can you take care of food?”</p><p>“Sure, I can throw something together,” Mace replied. He went over to a corner piled up with a few storage crates and started rummaging through one. He asked over his shoulder, “Any preferences?”</p><p>Ian recognized the sound of the packaging, and it seemed like John had as well. “They still got chicken and rice? Can’t go wrong with chicken and rice.”</p><p>“Oh, man, you don’t have to play it safe anymore. MRE technology has come a long way,” Mace boasted, coming back from the crates with three brown packages. “And SCORPIA shells out the big bucks for Mister Rider’s ops, so we’ve even got the fresh stuff. Here, try these—” He threw one of the packets to John, where it landed in his lap.</p><p>“No, wait, I got this,” John said gamely, uncrossing his legs and doing his best to pinch the corners of the packet with his toes. What he expected to do from there was anyone’s guess.</p><p>“You’re disgusting,” Ian told him. He moved his head to dodge the packet that came at him with a bit more force. He was definitely noticing some more hard feelings directed at himself than at John, which struck him as weird. John was the big SCORPIA traitor; Ian had barely even brushed up against the organization in his long career.</p><p>“Untie them and let them eat one at a time,” Alex said. He’d come closer while they were all occupied watching John make a fool of himself. “Saffron and Chronos will be here in a couple hours, I want them out of sight before that happens.”</p><p>Shale and Jarek came back from a pile of dark duffle bags with fresh clothing. It had to have been gleaned from someone’s civilian stash because there were no scorpions anywhere to be found, to Ian’s private relief. They had to cut his ties again and took him back to the locker room. This time there would be no curtain shielding him from the SCORPIA soldiers. Ian didn’t let it bother him. As soon as they were around the corner of the locker room, he turned his head toward Shale and asked, “I’m sensing that you have a problem with me specifically. Am I wrong about that?”</p><p>Jarek dropped the clothes into Ian’s hands, his expression detached. Shale’s withering glare was a stark contrast. “You’re not wrong,” Shale acknowledged.</p><p>“Am I allowed to know why?” Ian pressed, lightly. He pulled the fresh shirt over his head, feigning less concern than he felt.</p><p>“I hold you about half responsible for Alex being where he is now.”</p><p>Ian paused. “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“He’s a good kid,” Shale said, his lip lifting in a snarl. “He should be finishing high school and thinking about where to go to college. Instead, Mister Gregorovich had to take him out of MI6’s hands into SCORPIA’s. We chose this life. He didn’t. I blame you for training him, and Blunt for taking advantage of it.”</p><p>Ian stared blankly for a long moment, so stunned that his mouth was hanging open. Rallying he said, “And you don’t blame Yassen Gregorovich for <em>his</em> part in any of this? For dragging Alex into SCORPIA?”</p><p>“No, because I would have done the same if I found a kid in Alex’s situation. But I won’t be training any of mine as spies, and I certainly won’t be blackmailing one—”</p><p>“That’s enough, Shale.” The order was quiet but ringing in the locker room. Alex leaned against one wall by the exit, his arms crossed. He did not look pleased. “You and Jarek can go.” Shale opened his mouth to protest, shooting a suspicious glance at Ian. Alex cut him off with, “I can handle my uncle. <em>Go</em>.”</p><p>Shale and the silent Jarek filed out of the locker room, Shale giving one last poisonous look. Alex sighed when they were past him, standing upright and uncrossing his arms.</p><p>He didn’t say anything, so Ian finished changing and sat down on the bench that ran down the middle of the locker room. He thought about what he wanted to say to Alex.</p><p>He owed his nephew an apology—a dozen apologies and an explanation or three. And he really, really wanted to ask some questions, but he was fairly certain Alex wouldn’t answer, and that asking would only drive him farther away.</p><p>So Ian said, “Didn’t you say before that Gregorovich was the one who killed me?”</p><p><em>Yes, good start, Ian</em>, a voice that sounded like John’s congratulated him. <em>That’s the ticket</em>.</p><p>Alex came over to stand against the lockers across from Ian. Within grabbing distance if Ian lunged. He didn’t like that the thought occurred to him. “Yes, that’s right. I met him on a mission I did for MI6. He left… an impression.”</p><p>Ian offered a half-hearted smile. “It must have been some impression if you went with him anyway. Or did you?” Ian meant <em>did you go or did he take you?</em> If MI6 was so desperate they were using child spies, SCORPIA would certainly love to do the same.</p><p>Alex’s tone gained a chill. “He saved my life and told me to get out of the spying business. When MI6 kept pulling me back in anyway, he showed up later at the house in Chelsea and repeated the advice at gunpoint. I informed him that it wasn’t an option for me so he might as well just shoot and save everyone a lot of trouble, and he gave me a new option.”</p><p>“SCORPIA.”</p><p>Alex frowned, looked down. “Yes. For training, protection...  things I needed to learn that MI6 wasn’t giving me. Yassen took me on as his partner so that he could cover for all the things I didn’t want to do. We did so well that SCORPIA offered Yassen a position on the board, and he took it because you’re not allowed to turn something like that down, and I accepted the position as his second. </p><p>“He gave me the choice to say no every step of the way. I chose to stay. I’m choosing to remake SCORPIA from the inside. No more terrorism. No more human trafficking.” Alex’s hands curled into fists. With tight and vicious control he said, “<em>No children</em>.”</p><p>A knot Ian hadn’t even noticed released itself from around his heart. The Alex he’d known wasn’t gone, just transformed into someone Ian <em>almost</em> couldn’t recognize.</p><p>“Alright, just one more question then.” Ian’s facade—which hadn’t been solid pretty much since he’d heard his address through a mirrored glass window—had fallen away. Alex responded in kind, losing much of the cold distance between them. “You said before that we were going to get out of this alive. Are you sure Gregorovich is going to agree with that?”</p><p>Ian expected Alex might reassure him or even turn cold again at having his mentor questioned. Instead he saw a flicker of unease. It was the first hint that Alex might not be as secure in his new self as he appeared.</p><p>“I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen,” Alex admitted. “But I know what I won't allow. You just have to trust me, Uncle Ian.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope that our few remaining friends<br/>Give up on trying to save us<br/>I hope we come out with a fail-safe plot<br/>To piss off the dumb few that forgave us<br/>- The Mountain Goats, <em>No Children</em></p><p>The rest of the song doesn't really fit, but ever since I had Alex say "No children" it was the only thing on my mind.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the past that bites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John nearly crossed his eyes to look at the food hovering in front of his face, then refocused on Helen who was holding it there. “If you start making airplane noises, I’m filing for a divorce.”</p><p>“I won’t need to if you’ll eat like a big boy,” Helen teased back, the quiver gone from her voice. She was holding up remarkably well for the situation; John was proud. “Maybe I should consider this practice for—” she stopped as she remembered abruptly that they no longer had an infant son to look forward to raising together, breath catching.</p><p>The SCORPIA soldiers had decided not to risk untying John while Ian was still running around unrestrained in the locker room, so Helen was using her free hand to feed both him and herself. It was up to John to keep their heads above water, keep them moving through the storm.</p><p>He was dealing with it by compartmentalizing. He’d been pulled eighteen years into the future. Things had changed. All the important factors went into the box he was currently operating out of, including not having MI6 resources or knowledge of the current political or physical terrain. All the other stuff went into another box that he wasn’t letting himself think about. The fact that his son was almost eighteen and part of SCORPIA was taking up a lot of room in that box.</p><p>Even with the separation, John was woefully unprepared to see what looked like a younger version of himself wearing a SCORPIA combat uniform. Part of him was shamefully grateful that Alex wasn’t calling him Dad. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that right now.</p><p>Alex wandered away while John and Helen were eating, heading toward the men’s locker room. He went in; the two SCORPIA soldiers came out less than a minute later, which meant that Alex and Ian were alone in there. Ian was more Alex’s father than John was at this point. Or maybe not; both of them seemed to consider Ian a very hands-off guardian—outside of training Alex to be a spy.</p><p>That wasn’t <em>completely</em> unexpected. John would probably have wound up doing the same. It was no accident that both John and Ian worked for MI6: their father, Evan Rider, had been a spy in World War Two and during the tension after. John and Ian had grown up in the middle of the Cold War aware of Evan’s work, and proud of it even after it got him killed. His two sons followed in his footsteps.</p><p><em>And now Alex is following in ours,</em> John thought with a private gloom. He was adept at keeping his thoughts from showing on his face even when the bad box was leaking.</p><p>Movement by the locker rooms caught his attention again. Ian and Alex emerged, looking less like prisoner and captor and more like recently estranged family. The physical resemblance was even stronger when they were right next to each other, Alex just an inch shorter than his uncle. Ian’s hands were swinging free at his sides, unrestrained.</p><p>John ached to talk to Helen alone. There was so much that couldn’t be said in front of SCORPIA. This morning, John woke up knowing that he was going to get on a plane to France to begin a new life. That had changed so quickly and so completely that he would be reeling if he didn’t have more immediate problems to deal with: keeping Helen and Ian alive. Apparently he’d already failed at that once.</p><p>John’s plan at the moment was simple for lack of more complex options. Alex and the SCORPIA team were too cautious to make the usual mistakes, even after John had expended a lot of effort to put on a friendly, sympathetic facade. The soldiers seemed to buy into it, or at least were willing to play along. John had a few times caught his son’s gaze, sharp and knowing, and knew that he wasn’t fooling Alex at all. </p><p>That was unusual because disguise was John’s specialty. Even Ian couldn’t catch him in a lie if John didn’t want him to. Was Alex really seeing through it or just assuming that everything John did was a lie? If it was the latter, that could be useful. John could ‘trick’ him by telling the truth.</p><p>Of course, none of these nebulous plans would mean anything if someone didn’t slip up soon. Before the other two SCORPIA combat teams arrived. John could just about handle escaping from eight people. Triple that would be impossible.</p><p>Marcus came out of the back hall, two of the other soldiers on his tail. He nodded at Alex, scanned Ian with a hint of disapproval, and said, “Adams and Ivey will head out to secure Mister Gregorovich’s route as soon as Saffron or Chronos gets here.”</p><p>Alex nodded back, pulling a phone out of his pocket to check the screen. “Good. Everyone’s still on time so it’ll be Saffron first. I’m going to catch up on some work.” He started heading for the same office he’d holed up in before.</p><p>“I took the liberty of setting up a cot for you, sir,” Marcus said, pointedly.</p><p>Alex’s lips pressed together and he rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Marcus.”</p><p>“Just a thought, sir. I know what time you woke up today.”</p><p>“<em>Thank you, Marcus</em>.” Alex stalked down the hall.</p><p>“I guess even teenage assassins need a bedtime,” John said. </p><p>He was testing the water for any tension around the fact that this team’s boss was almost half their age. Based on what he’d heard so far it seemed that they were at least partially responsible for Alex’s well-being, like caretakers with guns. People didn’t sign up with SCORPIA to be babysitters, so it was likely that some of them resented having that role thrust upon them.</p><p>Instead, he got a vicious look from Marcus, and even the two friendlier soldiers Mace and Aranda were frowning, their body language suddenly distancing from him.</p><p>They <em>respected</em> Alex, disapproved of John taking him lightly. They were loyal. A bit late he remembered that SCORPIA didn’t coddle anyone and they certainly wouldn’t have assigned a combat team to the job. So they’d taken that on voluntarily; they cared.</p><p>“Bad time for a joke,” he covered, making it remorseful and self-effacing. Mace and Aranda thawed almost instantly, forgiving a misstep in a stressful situation. Marcus didn’t.</p><p>When they were all finished eating—Ian got to feed himself, the bastard, but they tied him back up after he was done—John settled back against his pillar and closed his eyes, watching through the tiniest crack. Helen managed to shift herself mostly into his lap, laying against his chest. The extra weight wasn’t exactly welcome pressing his back into the pillar, but he was too glad to have her close to say anything about it. She laid her head against his shoulder, one hand tucked close between them and the other stretched out still attached by the wrist to his.</p><p>In a whisper he could barely hear, she said, “John, what are you going to do?”</p><p>He laid his cheek on the top of her head, sighing softly. “Whatever I have to to get you and Ian out of here.”</p><p>“And yourself, John.”</p><p>“That may not be possible,” John admitted. It had been eighteen years. He had no idea what Yassen was like now. “But I swear I’ll try my best.”</p><p>Helen’s fingers clenched, bunching up his shirt. She said, “He looks just like you.”</p><p>John didn’t have to ask who. “I was thinking how much he looks like you, actually.”</p><p>Helen picked her head up to give him a disbelieving look.</p><p>“It’s the eyes,” John continued. He saw Aranda glance their way, attention drawn by Helen’s small movement. “He has your eyes.”</p><p>She breathed out a shuddering burst and confessed, “I want to talk to him. I want to know… about his life. What happened to him. That’s my <em>son</em>, John. I can feel it.”</p><p>“I know,” John whispered, swallowing thickly. He could feel it too. He was doing his best to keep it at arm’s length. “I know, sweetheart. But he might be… that might not be possible.”</p><p>“I know,” she mumbled into his neck. “Do you trust him?”</p><p>John slid a look over to Ian. His brother was in the same position as John, trying to get some rest. He’d been more relaxed and calmer after his time alone with Alex, but fourteen years was a long time to change and grow new skills and new blind spots. John couldn’t be sure of Ian’s judgement on the matter.</p><p>“I think we might not have any other choice.”</p><p>Helen made a noise. She was drifting off.</p><p>“Helen, I need you to promise me something,” John jostled her into wakefulness with his shoulder. “C’mon, honey.”</p><p>She blinked, then squinted at him. “What? If it’s stupid, the answer is no.”</p><p>She usually thought most of John’s ‘plans’ were stupid and barely deserving of the name. “Whatever happens with SCORPIA, if I get you out, you go.” John let her see how serious he was. Deadly. “Even if that means leaving me behind. They don’t have any reason to want you dead. They’ve been lenient with you so far. Those are good things. If you get a chance, you go. I can take care of myself if I don’t have to worry about you.”</p><p>She just looked at him for a long moment, searching, the conflict visible on her face. Her eyes hardened. She nodded. “Okay. I promise.”</p><p>Relief washed through John. It was short-lived.</p><p>“Only because you’re an idiot,” she continued, “And I’m not going to get a chance like that. Dumbass. Where would I go? We’re eighteen years in the future. I’m dead.”</p><p>John’s mouth dropped open. He’d pushed that bit so far back that he’d <em>forgotten</em> about it. “Fuck. Um. I know some people who do—but they’re probably dead or at least moved. <em>Fuck</em>. I guess you’re stuck with me.”</p><p>She patted his chest in a consoling way. It was only a little patronizing. “It’s alright. You worry about keeping us alive. I’ll worry about the future.”</p><p>It was a division of labor that had been working out for them so far. John was great at improvising and thinking ten steps ahead; Helen’s first instinct was to think into the next ten years.</p><p>“I knew there was a reason I married you,” he said with a smile, kissing her on the cheek.</p><p>“No one else would put up with you, spy boy.” she reminded him, laying back down. “Now be quiet. I’m tired.”</p><p>John tipped his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes.</p>
<hr/><p>It was a fitful night with very little actual rest. John felt like he blinked and then Mace was crouching next to him, nudging him awake.</p><p>“Come on, up and at ‘em,” Mace said quietly when he saw John’s eyes crack open. “Saffron’s a couple minutes out and Orion doesn’t want them to see you guys.”</p><p>“Right,” John said blearily. That made sense. The fewer people knew he was back from the dead, the easier it would be to make him disappear again—one way or another.</p><p>He, Ian, and Helen shuffled off to one of the locker rooms and dozed off under the watchful eyes of two guards for about half an hour. Then it was a midnight bathroom break—Aranda cleared the stall between Ian and John using it, which was just <em>paranoid</em>—and back out to the main room. </p><p>This time they attached the plastic ties to the bar of a treadmill and John was able to lay down, so overall he considered it an improvement. He was sure he could figure out a way to slip the cuff off the treadmill given a minute alone, which of course they didn’t give him.</p><p>It wasn’t the worst night of sleep John had ever gotten, but it definitely made the list. He found himself unable to suppress his yawning at around the same time the soldiers started stirring into real activity again. An internal clock suggested that it might be dawn although he’d lost track of how many hours it had been.</p><p>Alex reappeared from the back hall with no fanfare, changed into fresh clothes without the body armor, still finger-combing his hair into a vague semblance of order. He needed to get it cut, John judged. Who was allowed near his head with scissors? That was probably a short list.</p><p>Alex glanced over at his three prisoners with a critical eye, apparently finding them good enough because he didn’t say anything this time. He didn’t look like he’d slept well either. Part of John (the one starting to really feel the sore ache in his shoulders) wanted to be vindictively glad about it; the other part was ashamed of the first. This whole situation was too confusing, but no amount of wishing could make it not be happening, so he just had to muddle through.</p><p>Once he’d gotten a murmured update from Marcus, Alex stayed in the main room just… loitering. He leaned against a support pillar, tapping at his phone. Put it away, did a circuit around the room examining their supplies, then leaned against another wall and brought the phone out again.</p><p>It didn’t take John long to catch on that Alex was agitated. Was something going wrong?</p><p>Then he heard the quiet rumble of a large engine pulling up in front of the building, unseen behind the boarded-up windows. Alex’s head snapped up to the door, his back going ramrod straight.</p><p>John traded a hard look with Ian and they both sat up more.</p><p>“What is it?” Helen murmured, shifting with John.</p><p>“Probably nothing good,” John replied.</p><p>That was when the door opened and Yassen Gregorovich walked in.</p><p>John didn’t have any trouble recognizing him even eighteen years later; he had the same pale blue eyes, the same quiet air. That aura was a lot more menacing now that he’d grown into it. Like Ian, he was older and weathered. He had the same grace and economy of movement that Alex showed.</p><p>Alex’s attention focused on Yassen the way a compass pointed north.</p><p>“Sir,” Alex said with a short nod.</p><p>Yassen nodded back, expressionless, and raked his gaze over the entire room. He paused slightly on John, who made no move to hide that he was staring, but moved on. His quick inspection complete, Yassen said, “Danube can take over guard duty while Sagitta gets some rest.”</p><p>He and Alex sounded the same, John realized. Or perhaps it was more true to say that sometimes Alex sounded like Yassen.</p><p>Alex nodded again, glancing at Marcus who took one of the new SCORPIA soldiers aside to brief him.</p><p>Without another word exchanged, Alex started for the back hall and Yassen followed. The soldiers stayed behind.</p><p>“What a warm reunion,” Ian commented under his breath.</p><p>“They’re psychic,” Ivey explained. He and Adams had been gone most of the night, apparently picking up Yassen and his team. He tapped his index finger against one temple. “Don’t need to talk.”</p><p>Adams slapped him upside the head on his way past.</p><p>The newcomers—team Danube, eight men all intimidatingly big and broad-shouldered—highlighted a difference John hadn’t been aware of. Alex’s Sagitta was friendly and talkative in comparison with Danube, who were consummate professionals uninterested in chatting with their prisoners. John was leaning toward the explanation that Alex encouraged a more casual relationship than Yassen did. He certainly couldn’t imagine Danube’s Commander Hill unsubtly telling Yassen to go take a nap.</p><p>“That one is Hunter,” Marcus said, bringing Hill over to examine the prisoners. “I’ve been treating him like I would try to keep Mister Gregorovich.”</p><p>Hill nodded, mouth a grim line. John smiled innocently at them. Helen turned away slightly to put her free hand against her lips and hide whatever expression she was making.</p><p>“Helen Rider, Hunter’s wife, and Ian Rider, his brother. Nurse and MI6 agent, respectively. Mrs Rider is allowed some extra freedoms because she’s smart enough not to abuse them.” With this said, Marcus glanced at Hill sharply.</p><p>Hill grunted an affirmative and said, “Understood. We can take it from here.”</p><p>Marcus fixed John with a hard look and said, “Behave. They won’t be as nice as we are.” then went to go help the rest of his team with setting up sleeping cots.</p><p>Hill also glared at John. He tapped the grip of the pistol holstered at his hip. “Sedative shots. I won’t hesitate to shoot any of you, including you Mrs Rider. Keep that in mind.”</p><p>“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted,” John remarked dryly. “Is it that you think I’m good enough to pull something off here, or stupid enough to try?” It was a quick turnabout from the fun sociable personality he’d been playing for Sagitta, but they weren’t close enough to hear and it hadn’t been working on Marcus or Alex anyway.</p><p>Hill shrugged casually. “Not my job to worry about your feelings.”</p><p>John rolled his eyes. Alex and Yassen couldn’t come back fast enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HA I lied about Yassen only appearing in ch7. Well, not on purpose. This chapter used to be two, but I cut and rearranged some stuff.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. the harvest's only hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys... I broke Ian's hand back in c2 and then forgot about it and never mentioned it again and NONE of you called me on it. I fixed it now (so that it's not broken) but damn. Can't believe I forgot about that.</p><p>Have some Alex POV, as a treat to all the lovely reviewers. I read and treasure each one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yassen shut the door behind him, cutting off the quiet murmur of voices from the main room. The office wasn’t soundproof by any measure, but as long as they kept their voices down nothing would carry.</p><p>The office was small, barely big enough to contain the two desks that had jutted out from the left and right walls, plus the two cushy visitor chairs across from each one. Alex had claimed one desk for the thick-shelled shielded laptop with its secure connection to SCORPIA; the other had been shoved upright and into the corner to make room for the cot Alex had napped on, its chairs stacked in a corner.</p><p>Alex took a step toward Yassen, gauging his reaction watchfully. Yassen’s reaction was a slight tilt of his head, which was as good as an order. Alex closed the distance and hugged Yassen.</p><p>It wasn’t something he got do often. When he was physically exhausted after a particularly good or spectacularly bad assignment, Yassen would allow Alex to fall asleep against him. Alex could count the occurrences of actual physical affection on one hand.</p><p>Yassen’s arms came up behind him, cradling the back of his neck and behind his shoulders. Alex sighed as the tension of the last few days drained away to almost nothing. It wasn’t perfect—nothing in his life was ever <em>perfect</em>—but it was all a bit easier with Yassen here.</p><p>Alex pulled away after a moment, taking another deep calming breath. He met Yassen’s gaze with a resolute nod.</p><p>“Report,” Yassen said, moving past Alex to sit in one of the visitor chairs.</p><p>Alex would feel weird across a desk from Yassen, so he sat on the cot instead. “Upon arrival, Fabrice provided a more detailed briefing of the device he’s called the Fourth Dimensional Cutter. Within certain limitations, it can take a person out of their time in the past and relocate them to the present.”</p><p>Yassen raised one eyebrow.</p><p>Alex shrugged. “You have to have the time and place exact, and you need a DNA match. I have another summary in my report, but it’s not going to be much better. The science is way, <em>way</em> over my head. Fabrice explained that Glaive got wind of a big project and when Fabrice refused to sell or even tell him what it was, ordered the assault that led to Weiss’ death. Fabrice fled to his secondary lab here and decided to get SCORPIA’s attention by cutting my uncle out of the moment before his death.”</p><p>Yassen hummed thoughtfully. “And he used Ian because it was easy: your story is well-known in our business and your uncle’s time and place of death are simple to discover.”</p><p>“Yeah. So it was bait, like you thought, but not malicious bait. Fabrice just really hates Glaive Defense Services now, so he wants in bed with their biggest competitor—us. It helps that Weiss was already trying to get him to bring us in for security even before the attack.”</p><p>Alex pulled his legs up and crossed them, glancing away. “After he explained himself, he brought me down to where he was keeping Ian. I verified his identity. Fabrice insisted on a live demonstration—he’s <em>really</em> proud of his work—and brought back my parents next.” Alex swallowed thickly. “Fabrice gave them to me as a gift, we transported them here and waited for Saffron and Chronos to arrive. They departed immediately after briefing to secure the lab. Their last check in was oh-four-hundred, next check in is oh-eight, so… about an hour. The Cutter’s main mechanism is small enough to transport, although it needs a big setup to actually use it. The doctor is willing to destroy the rest of his work and recreate it later.”</p><p>“What about the staff?”</p><p>“He’s got eight mercenaries on twelve-hour rotation, five support staff, and two research assistants. All living on base. Security-wise the base was originally built as a nuclear fallout shelter, but when Fabrice bought and renovated it he wasn’t very good at covering his tracks, and he knows it, which is why he contacted us to facilitate his move to one of our safehouses.</p><p>“The doc kept his mercenaries and staff need-to-know, only four of the mercenaries know what the Cutter actually does. They’ve been told they’ll be moving with Fabrice. The rest have had their contracts paid out and been released.”</p><p>“Of those four?”</p><p>Alex grimaced. This was the part he didn’t like. “Saffron’s commander thinks two of them might be a good fit on a combat team. The other two will have to die.” Yassen was getting less tolerant of prevaricating statements like ‘they <em>might</em> have to die.’ Alex consoled himself that they were mercenaries. They knew what they’d signed on for, and none of them had left when they saw the cells in Fabrice's basement. “None of the support staff know enough to be worth bothering with, so I gave them contact cards and let them go.” Another operative might have killed them just to be safe, Alex knew. Even he had considered it, although he felt ashamed about the thought right after. “Fabrice’s two assistants will go with him to Doctor Three.”</p><p>Yassen raised an eyebrow. He’d been on a plane and out of secure contact with SCORPIA’s servers, so this was news to him. “Doctor Three?”</p><p>“Wants to pick Fabrice’s brain. Maybe literally. As soon as I posted that report, he basically ordered me to send Fabrice to him.”</p><p>Yassen nodded slowly. Alex could see him processing and absorbing information, although he had only the vaguest idea of where Yassen would end up with it.</p><p>Finally he said, “Have you spoken much to your family?”</p><p>Alex bit his lip. Those were words he’d been avoiding thinking about. <em>My family</em>. “Not really. I talked to Ian a little—he wanted to know how I wound up with you. He asked what we were going to do with them and I didn’t really give him an answer. I did ask him about the willing me to MI6 thing. He said Blunt faked that paperwork.”</p><p>Yassen’s unimpressed expression conveyed a lot.</p><p>“He didn’t even know I was me at the time, they were still blindfolded,” Alex defended. “So he had no reason to lie.”</p><p>“It does not matter anymore.”</p><p>Alex replied more fiercely than he meant to, “It does to me.”</p><p>Yassen stopped for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. What do you think should be done with them?”</p><p>Alex took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I know you’re trying to teach me how to do this on my own. You also think I’m too emotionally close to the situation to make the right call, I won’t even try to argue that I’m not. So the right answer is that I should let someone else I trust handle it.”</p><p>Sometimes Yassen’s lack of any tells was frustrating; this was one of those times. Alex glanced at him to check for approval or disapproval and got nothing. He kept going, “But I <em>know</em> what the right answer is. They’re too high-profile, they all know about the Cutter, which is information we can’t allow to leak if we want to use it, and if they're alive they can be used against me. They need to die.”</p><p>He paused for a moment, glaring at Yassen and daring him to object. He finished, “And I’m <em>not</em> going to let that happen.”</p><p>He’d done his best to keep his distance and not consider any impossible solutions. He’d said barely three words to his mother when all he really wanted to do was ask her about every tiny detail of her life and the life they might have had. He’d treated his father like a radioactive substance, careful and watchful, while his heart ached to ask how John had handled being a SCORPIA operative and killing people. John’s time in SCORPIA was the next closest thing to where Alex was now.</p><p>Alex wanted so desperately to get to know them both. It was worse for knowing that he had the theoretical chance now—that it was possible if only the stars aligned and they all suddenly became very different people. Alex had no illusions that Ian was proud of him. Sad; guilty; disappointed. Not proud. He couldn’t imagine that his mother and father would be any different. Hell, Alex was in training to take over the organization John had done his best to dismantle. He could see the guarded wariness in John’s eyes every time the man looked at him.</p><p>He was under no delusion that this could end in a happy family reunion. But he thought he could probably keep them alive and give them a good head start. SCORPIA could survive that. Alex might even survive that.</p><p>Yassen leaned back in the chair, as composed as ever. He said in even tones, “Alright. What are your other options?” At the end he allowed an indulgent smirk to cross his face.</p><p>Alex flushed a little, realizing that he’d been even more irrational than he was accounting for, so busy arguing with the specter of Doctor Three in his head that he’d dumped it all on Yassen as well. Yassen wouldn’t have suggested killing them even as a test. He’d taken on the board for Hunter’s sake when he recruited Alex, then taken them again for Alex’s sake when it became clear that he was going to do something stupid and suicidal otherwise.</p><p>Thankfully, Alex <em>had</em> brainstormed some acceptable ideas. “I also don’t like the idea of trying to keep them prisoner for any extended length of time. Anywhere secure enough to completely prevent escape would both be inhumane and cost a lot of money.” Alex knew which reason was for himself and which one mattered to SCORPIA. “And anything cheaper or more humane, like putting them in Malagosto, wouldn’t be secure enough to hold two MI6 agents.”</p><p>Yassen cocked an eyebrow. “To hold <em>Hunter</em> and <em>your</em> uncle, you mean,” he said. Hunter had his reputation, and Ian had one by proxy of being the man who trained Alex well enough to impress Yassen.</p><p>“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “My other ideas all require some amount of cooperation from them. I haven’t asked yet, but... I think since my mum and dad were getting ready to go into hiding in France, they might agree if we offer to set them up with something similar. New names and lives somewhere else. Dad was ready to give up the life basically a day ago.” He shrugged, feeling self-conscious about calling John Rider <em>dad</em>. It felt like he’d lost that privilege around the time he shot the man.</p><p>Yassen leaned forward. “And if John Rider takes this deal and then turns around and tries to return to MI6? Remember, he was going into hiding for the sake of his wife and infant child. His situation has changed, and he is nothing if not loyal.”</p><p>Alex met Yassen’s gaze squarely. “I think if he really wants to go back to MI6, we can’t stop him without resorting to measures I won’t agree with.”</p><p>The smallest smile of approval pulled at the corner of Yassen’s mouth. “You’re probably right, but we’ll have to give Doctor Three more than that.”</p><p>“He’s retiring on his trust in my attachments,” Alex pointed out. “He can’t complain that I have them.”</p><p>“No, but he can do his best to remove those attachments so that your focus isn’t pulled too many ways.”</p><p>Alex’s hands clenched into fists as he remembered the attempt on his life. “I’d kill him for it.” His grip relaxed slightly as he realized—“Which he’s smart enough to figure out.”</p><p>Yassen nodded. “True. But the situation will require care. Perhaps an active tracker and a stern warning not to get anywhere near the Isles.”</p><p>“Right, that might work.” If he were living as a civilian, John wouldn’t need to worry about an actively broadcasting tracker giving him away while he was undercover. It was a good idea. Alex breathed in and out, moved on. “Ian. I don’t think he’ll agree to being sidelined even if we send him with my mum and dad.” The man hadn’t given up espionage even when he had a little kid at home to take care of. He wouldn’t stop <em>now</em>.</p><p>“I agree. He is also more dangerous to us than John. He has only been gone for four years, so many of his contacts will still be alive and available to him. He could be back in MI6’s hands in days.”</p><p>Alex grimaced. “And telling them all about the huge advantage SCORPIA just acquired.”</p><p>“That information will come out eventually,” Yassen said.</p><p>“So we just… delay him until it does.” Alex said slowly. That wasn’t terrible, right? Ian would probably choose a short-term captivity over death. “At Malagosto? Wait—that won’t work. My dad won’t go into hiding if we’re keeping Ian.”</p><p>“And so we’ve circled back around to imprisonment,” Yassen said dryly.</p><p>“God damn it.” Alex rubbed at his eyes. Plaintive and tired he asked, “Can’t we just let them go?”</p><p>Yassen was silent for long enough that Alex picked his head up out of his hands and squinted at him. Yassen’s expression was one of faint curiosity. He said, “You haven’t suggested trying to bring any of them into SCORPIA.”</p><p>Alex bit his lip. He wasn’t going to admit the brief but embarrassingly childish fantasy he’d entertained in the transport, when his parents and uncle were all still blindfolded and unaware of their captor’s identity: that they wouldn’t care that he was SCORPIA, that they’d be happy just to be reunited with him.</p><p>He said softly, “I don’t think any of them would go for that, or that we could trust them even if they did. I mean—it’s Hunter. He’s already done the traitor thing once.”</p><p>Yassen smiled. “Yes, but that was when MI6 sent him under with a handler and a mission. If he turned up on their doorstep now with information about SCORPIA, he might never see the sky again.”</p><p>“I guess,” Alex swallowed thickly. His heart was beating too fast. “We can offer it as an option?” In his mind he immediately added, <em>they’ll never agree to it. There’s no point in hoping.</em></p><p>Yassen nodded. “Then I think it’s time to talk to the other Riders.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?<br/>― Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. look upon thy works</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all get this one early because words have just been pouring out of my fingers. So many words. I hope you like them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Alex and Yassen rejoined the rest of them, Ian made note of the way Alex stayed beside and a step behind the older assassin, like a well-trained dog at heel. <em>That’s not promising</em>, he thought, remembering how independent fourteen-year-old Alex had been. He was never one to follow an instruction if he thought he knew a better way.</p><p>“Hunter,” Yassen said, coming to a stop in front of John.</p><p>Ian’s brother made a complicated face. It was almost fond. “Cossack,” he returned.</p><p>Yassen <em>smiled</em>. It wasn’t something Ian ever wanted to see again. He said, “We should talk.”</p><p>“I completely agree. Where do you want to start?” John paused for a moment and added, “I’ve got ideas if you don’t.”</p><p>Ian felt like he was missing half of this conversation.</p><p>Shaking his head, Yassen said, “Not here.” He unsheathed a knife from his belt and cut the tie between John and Helen, and the one between John and the treadmill, leaving John’s hands just bound behind his back.</p><p>“Don’t trust me?” John asked, arching as he stood to stretch his back.</p><p>“Would you?”</p><p>John considered it for a moment, then shrugged and admitted, “Probably not.”</p><p>Yassen turned and headed straight back for the office he’d just come out of, leaving John to follow without guidance, which he did. Alex shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he was about to follow as well, but stopped in place for no obvious reason; Yassen had barely even turned his head. <em>Psychic</em>, Ian thought. Well. If time travel was on the table, maybe actual telepathy was too. He liked that idea a lot better than the alternative.</p><p>“What are they going to talk about?” Helen asked Alex, rubbing her wrist. She was completely free now, not that SCORPIA seemed to care about that. Probably because most of the soldiers in the room weighed two of her and were wearing body armor; she wouldn’t be much of a threat even with a gun.</p><p>Alex glanced at her and quickly away. He shrugged. “I don’t know all of it, but they’ll probably talk about what to do with you guys. Maybe catch up a little. Yassen was Hunter’s apprentice in SCORPIA.”</p><p>“I know,” Helen nodded, “John told me about him. I never thought I’d meet him… at least, not in any good circumstances.”</p><p>Alex snorted. “These are good circumstances?”</p><p>“They could be worse,” Helen said simply, with a smile at her son.</p><p>Alex ducked uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. Ian was surprised to recognize a rare occurrence of genuine shyness. The outgoing nephew he’d raised had far more often <em>faked</em> being shy during one of their training games.</p><p>Ian meanwhile was putting this new information together with what he already had. “Wait, so John trained him… and then he used that training to shoot me? That’s just disrespectful.”</p><p>Alex sighed. “Yeah, that took me a while too. Yassen’s just, um, pragmatic. There was no way he could do anything for you except make it quick.” He stopped there with an abruptness that made it obvious he’d cut himself off.</p><p>“But for you,” Ian said slowly, “He could bring you into SCORPIA. Instead of staying with MI6.” Ian couldn’t help but think that Six would have been better. Alex might have been brainwashed or otherwise ‘convinced’ that SCORPIA was his best option, but Ian knew how both operated, and he could say that at least Six was trying to protect something. SCORPIA was just in it for the money.</p><p>Alex’s lip curled in a flash of anger. “He did his best to keep me alive, which is more than MI6 ever did. Maybe I should get you the files for the three operations I was forced to run for them. It might be enlightening for you to read about how I called for help and they decided to <em>wait</em> while a deranged Nazi was trying to vivisect me.”</p><p>“Why would they do that?” Ian asked on automatic, trying to wrap his head around the idea. He’d never asked for backup or retrieval and not had it. If they gave you a way to call for help, then help was virtually guaranteed. Some missions you didn’t get a panic button, but you knew that going in. To call and receive no answer….</p><p>“I don’t know,” Alex said, anger simmering down to grim resentment. “And I don’t care. Yassen didn’t make me a killer or an operative. MI6 did that. Yassen just made me good enough to survive.”</p><p>Ian swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze. It would be a relief to assume that Alex had been reprogrammed or brainwashed; that would remove the fault from both Ian and the people he’d worked for. But if even half of Alex’s accusations were true, they were damning; and Alex had never been one to exaggerate. In fact he had tended to <em>downplay</em> any injury or altercation, which didn’t bode well at all for whatever was the whole truth. Maybe Ian did want to read those mission files.</p><p>“Anyway,” Alex said in a conciliatory tone, “He’s probably going to ask, so you guys should know too. The one who put the bomb on your plane was my godfather Ash. He went over to SCORPIA and that assassination was the proof that he wasn’t an MI6 spy.”</p><p>Helen and Ian exchanged a wide-eyed glance of shock.</p><p>“<em>Ash?</em>” Helen demanded.</p><p>Ian didn’t want to believe it either, but as an explanation it fit a lot better than anything Ian had ever come up with. Why Ash hadn’t wanted to have any hand in raising Alex despite being named godfather over Ian, why he’d run off to Australia the first chance he got. The quiet mourning Ian had seen in him took on a haunted cast in retrospect.</p><p>“Is he. Still with you then?” Ian asked, stalling out in the middle of his question. Was Alex <em>surrounded</em> by the people who’d killed his family?</p><p>Alex snorted. “No, he turned traitor for ASIS at some point, so he’s dead now. I have no idea what you guys saw in him.”</p><p>“He wasn’t like that when we knew him,” Helen said faintly. Ian recalled that Ash had asked her out at least once, before she got together with John.</p><p>“Lots of that going around,” Ian muttered, thinking of Blunt. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the man threatening a child; it was more that Blunt preferred his people skilled and effective, so he was unlikely to entrust an operation to a kid. After all, where were you going to find a trained child agent?</p><p>The answer, of course, was: at Ian’s house.</p><p>“Well,” Helen said, putting her hands on her knees. “Not that that isn’t… informative, but it wasn’t really what I want to know. What can you tell me about yourself, Alex?”</p><p>“Um,” Alex had a deer-in-the-headlights look.</p><p>“Obviously nothing classified, I know how that is,” Helen assured him. “But what about when you were growing up? Ian was telling us about some of the trips you took together, before.”</p><p>Alex relaxed. Ian wasn’t sure if he’d reacted like that because he thought Helen was trying to ferret out secrets or if it was because he didn’t want to tell her about working for SCORPIA. Could be both. Ian had done some things for MI6 he wouldn’t like Helen to hear about, and he was working for, ostensibly, the good guys.</p><p>Alex turned to Ian and said, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Ever since I found out, I’ve always wondered which parts of our trips were work-related and which parts were you actually spending time with me.”</p><p>Ian shrugged awkwardly. “Most of the time it was both. You, uh,” he cleared his throat and avoided looking at Helen. “You were pretty helpful for… work.”</p><p>Helen was definitely glaring at him.</p><p>“It wasn’t dangerous!” Ian defended himself quickly. “They weren’t dangerous people. Danger adjacent, if anything.”</p><p>Alex laughed quietly at him. “C’mon Uncle Ian, tell us about it. I thought I only ran three missions for MI6, you need to help me update my resume.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure they’re all still classified,” Ian said with a narrow-eyed frown at his nephew.</p><p>Waving a negligent hand, Alex said, “I’ve already read your mission files, I just want to hear it from you. I think you left a lot of stuff out since they don’t mention me at all.”</p><p>Ian sighed, remembering Alex’s offer a few minutes ago to let Ian read his own files. Of course if Alex had those he’d have access to more. “Fine.”</p>
<hr/><p>Yassen stepped back, holding the door open to let John go in ahead of him. John didn’t hesitate to turn his back on his ex-apprentice, something he was sure Yassen would take note of and realize that John was doing it on purpose.</p><p>He wasn’t even two paces into the room—observing the two desks, chairs, a cot, and a closed laptop—before he heard the quiet <em>snick</em> of a butterfly knife. Without a word or a moment of tension, he held his hands out away from his back as if there were no other reason Yassen could have drawn a blade.</p><p>A light touch on one wrist and a small yank against the plastic ties; John turned around rubbing the welted raw skin around his wrists to look at Yassen again.</p><p>Yassen said nothing, just moved around him to take one of the chairs. John remained standing in the middle of the room for a moment, then went and pulled another chair off the stack in the corner, set it down facing Yassen, and sat.</p><p>After another long moment of consideration, John opened with, “Yassen.”</p><p>“John,” his ex-apprentice returned with a nod.</p><p>Reproachfully, “<em>Yassen</em>.” <em>Stop being a robot and give me something to work with.</em></p><p>Leaning forward slightly, challenging, “<em>John</em>.” <em>Why should I give you anything?</em></p><p>John kept a straight face for a count of three, and then allowed the broad grin to break out. He snorted through his nose and sat back, raising his arms up over his head to stretch out aching shoulders. “God, and to think I was worried about you.”</p><p>Yassen raised an eyebrow. “Really? It never showed,” he deadpanned.</p><p>“Age has changed you,” John commented, lacing his fingers behind his neck to keep his arms up. “Into <em>me</em>, it seems like. Or at least who I was pretending to be.” That was the familiar thing he’d seen in Alex: the shadow of Hunter twice-removed and nearly unrecognizable. Alex imitating Yassen imitating Hunter.</p><p>Yassen shrugged. “You were a good role model—even if you were just playing a part.”</p><p>And there was the alligator-infested river between them. John couldn’t say <em>sorry I was a spy</em> or <em>sorry I left</em>, because neither of those things were even remotely true and Yassen would know that, and he wouldn’t thank John for a nice lie. There was really only one thing left, then—an explanation John had never expected to be able to give.</p><p>“I was trying to save you when I tried to scare you off. It wasn’t about taking a recruit away from SCORPIA, I just wanted you to have another choice. And when you came back… I taught you as much as I could. More than Six would be happy with, if I’m honest.”</p><p>There was a thoughtful pause, as if Yassen was deciding whether or not to accept the not-apology. Then he cracked a smile and John felt relief loosening a band around his heart; at the same time he thought fondly <em>this brat just wanted to watch me squirm</em>. Yassen had probably buried that kid with the sly sense of humor a long time ago—John had told him to—but he’d relaxed some of that ruthless self-control for John.</p><p>“I know,” Yassen said finally. “Better than you think. I tried to do the same for your son, and when it became clear that MI6 was not taking ‘no’ for an answer, I taught him what he needed to know to survive.”</p><p>John inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, looking away for a moment to gather his thoughts. Now that he’d talked to Yassen and determined that the man wasn’t harboring a grudge, he could put the rest of this series of unfortunate events in order. Yassen hadn’t taken Alex to spite John’s memory, but in honor of it. What Alex said about MI6 had been true. It wasn’t what John would have chosen for his son, but under the circumstances it was the best choice; at least Alex was with someone who loved him, however much Yassen was unable to show it.</p><p>“Thank you for taking care of him,” John said.</p><p>Yassen sighed wistfully. “He is easy to care for. My judgement wasn’t half as good at his age.”</p><p>John grinned. “That’s his mum, I bet. Definitely not me.”</p><p>“Definitely not,” Yassen agreed, probably thinking about the lapse in judgement that led to John going undercover in SCORPIA.</p><p>A comfortable silence fell for almost a minute. John was using the time to reassess his situation and figure out where to go from here; he couldn’t be sure what Yassen was thinking. He’d gotten too good at hiding it.</p><p>“So,” John said eventually. “Obviously, MI6 is out. Unfortunately, I don’t think SCORPIA is an option either. Helen would divorce me if not resort to outright murder. I suppose we’ll try to go into hiding, should be simple what with everyone thinking we’re dead, but that sort of thing costs money and I’m fairly certain mine’s not all where I left it.”</p><p>Yassen smirked, another glint of that subtle humor in his eye. He suggested, “I could get you onto the SCORPIA executive retirement plan.”</p><p>John knew he was being set up for some sort of joke because SCORPIA had never had an ‘executive retirement plan’ beyond a lethal dose of lead or poison. Willing to play along, John asked, “And what’s that?”</p><p>“Your son. He’s on track to take over SCORPIA from me, sometime in his twenties. I’ll retire and live out the rest of my days with SCORPIA’s protection—I can think of no one less likely to betray or assassinate me. The old board is dead now because of their resistance to such plans.”</p><p>John shook his head with a huff of admiring disbelief. “You never did go halfway on anything, did you?”</p><p>“It was only one of several outcomes. The decision was made by Alex himself; he wants to change SCORPIA, remake the organization into what it was when you were alive, or better. It has fallen somewhat in that regard, the last two decades.”</p><p>“The SCORPIA I knew still wasn’t that great.” An understatement.</p><p>“Like many things do with time, it got worse.”</p><p>“Well. Alright.” John paused, considering how he was going to tell his family about all of this and lay it out so Helen wouldn’t try to get Alex back. He couldn’t see that going well at all, much as he might've liked it. “I’ll need to talk to Helen and Ian, of course. But—sorry, do you have another appointment?”</p><p>Yassen was checking the time on his watch and frowning. “We may have a problem,” he said, standing up and gesturing for John to leave ahead of him.</p>
<hr/><p>Ian wound up telling them about a tame and completely safe mission in France, a tale which took them up until a series of insistent beeps sounded from Alex’s watch. He frowned checking it.</p><p>“Excuse me,” he said automatically as he stood and looked around. Spotting that he had Commander Hill’s attention, he said, “Have Saffron and Chronos checked in?”</p><p>Hill shook his head, getting to his feet as well. “No, sir.”</p><p>Ian felt a curl of unease in his stomach. This was a bad time for things to go wrong—not that there was ever a good time for it. He’d got the impression before that Doctor Fabrice was in danger and had already fended off an attack once.</p><p>Alex seemed to agree that something was wrong. He ordered, “Get Sagitta up and get ready to go,” as he made for the back office Yassen and John had disappeared into.</p><p>Yassen opened the door before Alex could reach it, letting John out ahead of him—unbound, which meant Ian was the only one still looking like a prisoner. Unfair. John was the one who’d actively tried to escape before.</p><p>Yassen and Alex met each other’s eyes as John stopped in his tracks.</p><p>“There’s a decent vantage point,” Alex said nonsensically, like he was starting a conversation from the middle. “If we go in on foot from the last turn, the tree line should provide enough cover to get an idea of the situation on the surface. I can cover the interior layout on the way.”</p><p>Yassen nodded. “We’ll take Danube on foot, Sagitta to follow behind with the vehicles.”</p><p>“Anything I can help with?” John asked mildly, rocking back and forth on his heels.</p><p>Yassen shot him a dry look. “You can stay here and not cause trouble.”</p><p>John turned a wounded expression on him, then quickly sobered up. “Alright.”</p><p>Yassen glanced to Alex, who turned on the spot and called out, “Marcus, pick two to stay behind and watch my parents and uncle.” It probably wasn’t telepathy but Ian was starting to wish it was.</p><p>In minutes, the SCORPIA combat teams were armed and armored. Alex had changed back into the body armor he’d been wearing yesterday, this time equipped with both a handgun and a rifle as well as several knives. Ian didn’t doubt he could use all of them. With his fair hair and standing next to Yassen who was armored exactly the same, they looked like two of a kind.</p><p>Alex paused by the door for half a second, looking back at them. Then he was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Alex, so stressed out he's accidentally putting on his Company Manners:</strong> what do you mean you think Yassen abused and brainwashed me? what gave you that idea??</p><hr/><p>Fun fact: the original version of this chapter didn't include the middle bit with Yassen and John at all. Because of how fucking hard it was to write. I had to finish <em>chapter 13</em> to get a clear idea of what they talked about. HMMMMM characterization is a beach.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. a prayer for courage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To all the people who really liked the last chapter and said it made them happy: this is for you! :)</p><p>This chapter needed visual aids for me when writing and it may help you to have them while reading. I cleaned them up a little but they are still very much indicative of my lack of visual artistic skill. The weird bits around the edges are where I had to cut out my planning notes. The images are linked throughout the story at the point where they may help and will not reveal what's ahead.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex briefed Yassen and Danube on the interior layout of Fabrice’s base in the RV on the way there. It had begun its existence as a rich man’s fallout shelter for himself, his family, and his staff and theirs. When Fabrice bought it he’d renovated it into a live-in vault and lab space.</p><p>“He added the exterior garage, here,” Alex passed over a tablet with images of the base. “At the back you can see the original shelter’s lead blast doors. Those close on tracks and can only be opened from the inside.”</p><p>“Did you have time to check up on all of Fabrice’s staff?” Yassen asked, flicking through the pictures. </p><p>He paused on a wide shot of the front of the base, one that showed the brutalist grey concrete box of the garage, built into the base of a tall cliff and looking extremely out of place among the otherwise natural green environment. The cliff hung over the square building like a thunderhead, completely shadowing it. The road leading up to the garage was unpaved gravel.</p><p>Alex shook his head. “I started, but not all of the checks have come back yet. One of his research assistants… I got the impression he didn’t want to be an <em>assistant</em> anymore.”</p><p>“Someone must have revealed the location of Fabrice’s first lab,” Yassen said.</p><p>Alex shrugged. “They thought they caught the guy—one of the support staff.”</p><p>“Hm,” Was all Yassen had to say on that. He tapped the tablet’s screen, still displaying the image of the lab’s exterior. “What does this location tell you?”</p><p>Alex examined it again and remembered what he’d thought when he first saw it. “Fabrice has a back exit somewhere.” He would need to. Nobody could live with that cliff hanging over their only exit, even with assurances from every structural expert in the world that it was safe. “He didn’t show us where it was.”</p><p>The RV rolled to a stop. Commander Hill came from the front to tell them, “Sirs, we’re on foot from here.”</p><p>Sagitta took the RVs, blockading the gravel road until it was time for them to move again. All of SCORPIA’s transports for this mission were disguised as big camping RVs on the outside, blending in nicely when they had to use highways and more public roads to get from one place to another. The insides of course had been gutted and refitted with armor paneling and soundproofing throughout, two bench seats against the walls. Each transport could fit a combat team easily, two teams if they were very good friends with each other. </p><p>Yassen, Alex, and Danube went through the forest, cutting across rough terrain and a lot of prickly underbrush, leaves whispering overhead in a slight breeze that never quite reached them.</p><p>They stopped behind a mound created by a massive tree that had fallen a long time ago and pulled up a lot of dirt with it, creating cover between the team and the garage just beyond. Yassen went up with a pair of binoculars; Alex didn’t see any orders to stay where he was, so after a quick consultation with Hill he followed.</p><p>“Radios are out,” Alex reported quietly. “Sagitta knows what time to meet us.”</p><p>They’d planned on the radios being jammed. It seemed like the most likely reason for Saffron and Chronos to not have called for backup.</p><p>Yassen made a noise of confirmation and handed him the binoculars. Alex raised them, getting a clearer look at the destruction he could already see with his bare eyes. The massive garage bay door had been breached by an explosive charge and four unfamiliar armored Humvees were circled around the opening, all standing empty. The transport that Saffron and Chronos had taken last night was still inside the garage apparently untouched. Alex could just barely make out the two thick sliding lead doors at the back of the garage, which led into the base proper; they were standing wide open. There were no more blast marks around the inner doors, nothing to indicate entry had been forceful.</p><p>“Definitely opened from the inside,” Alex said, handing the binoculars back. “That’s Glaive, right?”</p><p>Yassen nodded. “They may as well have put up a sign. Those vehicles can carry up to six men, so estimate at most twenty-four inside. Since they’re still here and our team hasn’t gotten in contact, I think it’s safe to assume whatever happened is still happening. If there is an escape tunnel they’ve likely been cut off from it.”</p><p>“Or Fabrice isn’t alive to tell them where it is,” Alex suggested pessimistically. Fabrice wasn’t the worst mad scientist he’d ever met, but the man definitely hadn’t resurrected his family out of a sense of compassion.</p><p>“Or that,” Yassen agreed.</p><p>They moved in cautiously, using the Humvees for cover between them and the garage, but there was no one guarding the surface. Possibly a fatal oversight; possibly Glaive had just encountered so much resistance below that they couldn’t spare the men.</p><p>The lead blast doors opened on a long, straight concrete hallway, wide and tall enough to theoretically drive one of the Humvees down if you had a good driver and no intention of trying to turn it around. Yesterday the hall had been in good condition, nothing more than scuff marks on the floor from moving supplies and personnel in and out. Now the walls, floor, and ceiling were pockmarked with bullet holes, and someone moving through before them had kicked spent shells out of the main path, leaving them littered against the walls.</p><p>The entryway ended at another pair of blast doors, just as thick as the first, and just as uselessly open. Past that the path split to the left or continued straight ahead to the stairwell and a large freight elevator at the end. That end also split down to the left again, creating a large rectangle of a hall squared around an open room in the center filled with the facility's generators and cooling systems. The path straight ahead to the stairs had five doors set back into shallow alcoves on the right, two glass double doors on the left, both sets shattered. This area bore more obvious signs of a battle: four bodies in Glaive uniforms left where they’d fallen, dead of a claymore that had been set up in one of the first door alcoves. The bodies revealed how Glaive had managed to run the whole gauntlet of zero cover between the blast doors; two of them were still holding bulletproof riot shields.</p><p><a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/16ef8f9ade6b4839c4bbae50960c96f6/b4a1e1fe463c2d15-d3/s540x810/50dd5c1b9fc37f6996a6d14ab846a41f23d13db4.jpg">As they drew closer to the stairs</a>, the sound of gunfire became audible over the hum of the base’s generators and ventilation system. It was below their feet, either on the second floor or the third, and probably still close to the stairwell.</p><p>Alex grimaced and said, “There <em>might</em> be a second set of stairs where we can flank them. I think some of the original maintenance stairs from the fallout shelter are still intact.”</p><p>“Are they concealed?” Yassen asked.</p><p>Alex hesitated, then nodded. “I didn’t actually see them in person and he didn’t mention them. Just caught a glimpse off the old blueprints he showed me. Nothing on the new ones overlapped the area.”</p><p>Yassen nodded, with a glance and a hand signal telling Hill to take the main stairwell. Alex led the way to the storage room in the opposite corner of the facility. The room was lined with wire racks and cardboard boxes, all standing on cheap rubber mats. Alex hooked a finger underneath the edge of a mat at the back, revealing metal grating beneath, and visible through that grating a set of old wooden stairs leading down into darkness.</p><p>“If he didn’t change anything,” Alex grunted as he and Yassen shifted the shelves over, “There’s maintenance shafts all over the first two levels. Fabrice added the third level himself so I’m not sure about that one.”</p><p>“These shafts are hidden but easily accessed if you know about it,” Yassen replied. “And Fabrice already had this secondary base ready to go before he even knew about the threat to his original one. The man’s paranoid and bad at contingencies. I’m willing to bet it’s no accident this is still open and that it goes to the third floor somewhere.”</p><p>That seemed like a fair assessment to Alex.</p><p>The stairs were old but seemed to be in good shape; the complex wasn’t damp enough to have rotted them. The stairs dropped down to somewhere but by Alex's estimate didn't reach the level of the third. An uncomfortably warm breeze blew past their faces on the way down as hot air rose up.</p><p>The stairs ended on a landing, splitting into two directions again. Yassen glanced to Alex, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“That way,” Alex said without hesitation, pointing to one. “The other one goes back the way we came. <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/a89a97771e89e195eab33873bec7aeba/b4a1e1fe463c2d15-16/s540x810/ce68de65ceba57db7cb3c461bf419d96a08063df.jpg">This way is one of the labs and Fabrice’s quarters</a>.”</p><p>The narrow maintenance shaft was hot and stuffy, lit by red emergency lighting; no one had bothered to ventilate them any more than was absolutely necessary to make it possible for a person to survive there. The going was uncomfortable, at times squeezing past thick pipes, insulated ventilation ducts, and bundles of wires.</p><p>“Fabrice,” Yassen said as he yanked his hand away from a hot pipe, where he'd intended to use it to brace himself as he stepped over another pipe on the floor. “A thin man?”</p><p>“Not particularly,” Alex panted. He was in shape, but felt like he was suffocating in the heat. Even Yassen was audibly having difficulty breathing.</p><p>“<em>Very</em> bad at contingencies,” Yassen repeated in a tone of condemnation.</p><p>The shaft split again, to the left and right. Alex stared at it dumbly for a moment, <em>feeling</em> his brain cooking, then realized, “It’s the lab. Must go around both ways. Left.” Right would just dead end where the maintenance shaft met up with the main hall again.</p><p>Yassen disagreed. “Over,” he said, pointing up. Alex, back too far, hadn’t see that the top of the shaft opened up and led into a crawlspace over the lab. It was obvious that people were intended to be able to get up there; there were metal rungs set into the wall.</p><p>So they went up and over. Yassen and Alex both broke out in a thin sheen of sweat. It was worse crawling across the top of the lab, the ceiling so close they had to go forward on elbows and knees. Dropping down the other side into slightly cooler air felt almost heavenly. Not much farther after, they found another stairwell leading down. Alex smiled.</p><p>That close to the third level, they were able to hear the exchange of gunfire again. It sounded like suppressing fire, semi-automatic weapons ‘talking’ back and forth to keep anyone from advancing. They turned another corner, and suddenly the shaft ended in a narrow door. There were voices beyond.</p><p>Nearly in unison, Alex and Yassen checked that their guns were in working order and undamaged from the trek. Alex nodded an affirmative when Yassen looked at him.</p><p>Yassen swung the door open on silent hinges, a hot breeze rushing out from behind them. Over his shoulder, Alex saw a broader hall, still dimly lit by red lights but much cooler and with better air. The hall looked like it extended the length of the complex, but not twenty feet from where Alex and Yassen were standing were the only other ways in or out: a door on the right, toward the lab and the rest of the facility, and a door on the left, toward someplace unknown. <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/b0d3f8ca0008c70fe7bc8997cedaf4fb/b4a1e1fe463c2d15-f2/s540x810/4b3b2e26964ca5559d22ba0d3e2d28fdb75980b5.jpg">Alex was willing to bet that was the escape tunnel</a>.</p><p>The immediately obvious problem was all the Glaive soldiers spilling out of it.</p><p>Both doors were open. As Alex and Yassen took in the situation at a glance, it worsened: one of the soldiers dragged a struggling Fabrice through the door on the right, heading straight across the hall to the exit Glaive was holding. They had more of those bulletproof riot shields, though they weren't deflecting from Alex and Yassen's direction yet.</p><p>“Be careful with that!” Fabrice shouted back at something still in the lab.</p><p>Yassen decided to announce their presence. Alex wasn’t even a heartbeat behind him, raising his own sidearm. Two shots rang out, two bodies dropped. Yassen moved to the right, presenting a moving target. Alex slipped out of the maintenance shaft and joined him a second later. More shots, more bodies. One of the soldiers holding on to Fabrice went down; the other managed to drag him through the door on the left.</p><p>Something weird happened. Yassen moved in <em>front</em> of Alex, fouling his aim. They had moved out of sync and that <em>just didn’t happen</em>.</p><p>One of the soldiers was holding a bigger gun than the others. Different. It was pointing right at them. Right at Alex.</p><p>Yassen staggered backward.</p><p>Alex put a neat round little hole in the Glaive soldier’s forehead. He felt like his brain was cooking again, like his armor was too tight to breathe. Everything was fragmenting, disconnected pieces of reality arriving one after another.</p><p>Yassen fell back. Alex switched to a single left-handed grip to catch him on his right arm, going to one knee through air as thick as molasses to lower him to the ground. He squeezed the trigger again and again. Two more bodies. They were piling up now. The Glaive soldiers were tripping over them in their haste to escape down the narrow tunnel.</p><p>One came through ducking and clutching a black metal briefcase. Alex’s eyes locked in on it. The world came back into razor-sharp focus. One more bullet; the last in his clip. He only needed the one. The soldier went down, the case thumping heavily to the concrete floor.</p><p>Alex picked up the case with a steady hand and checked his watch, counting backwards. It didn’t need to be exact, he remembered Fabrice saying. Just within a minute.</p><p>There were still more Glaive soldiers inside the lab cut off from the escape tunnel. Alex picked up another gun in his free right hand and helped the remains of Saffron and Chronos take care of them. They met Danube on the other side.</p><p>“It’s clear behind us, sir,” Hill reported. His eyes scanned behind Alex, looking for something else. When he didn’t find it, he refocused on Alex. “...Sir?”</p><p>Alex met his gaze evenly. He couldn’t unclench his jaw enough to speak. He just shook his head.</p><p>Hill’s eyes widened.</p><p>“Don’t,” Alex ordered. Seeing it in someone else had broken through something in him. “And leave it. He’s not there.” His fingers re-wrapped convulsively around the handle, grip tightening, knuckles white. Despite that, he felt the sort of calm you get at the center of a hurricane. The world had stopped shattering the moment he saw the case. There was no grief and no need for it; only an absolute certainty about his next steps.</p><p>In the cold measured tone he’d learned from Yassen, he said, “This is the Cutter’s mechanism. I’m going to get him back.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Father, give us <strong>courage to change what must be altered</strong>, serenity to accept what cannot be helped, and the insight to know the one from the other." - The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serenity_Prayer">serenity prayer</a> as it was originally composed by Reinhold Niebuhr.</p><p>I'm not religious but I always liked that one.</p><p>Y'all didn't really expect me to write a way for people to come back from the dead and then not use it for Maximum Hurt, right? Don't worry, this work isn't tagged for Major Character Death and it's not going to be.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. none but the unhappy people</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello my lovely readers, thank you for not abandoning me after last chapter and I hope you are ready for more of The Pain.</p><p>Sorry to those who got double emailed about an update - the original upload had some issues I had to correct by basically re-posting and deleting the original.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Get approximate time of death and DNA samples from our dead,” Alex ordered. He was gratified to see that even in the absence of Yassen’s authority, no one hesitated for a moment at the strange order.</p><p>They were in Fabrice’s main lab, the one he’d developed the Cutter in. The center of the massive, two-story room was dominated by a cube of thick clouded glass, now cracked and pitted with bullets. From each of the cube’s four sides and its top, jointed metal arms attached ready to draw the glass panes away. Alex had seen it yesterday and thought disparaging things about Fabrice’s showy dramatics. It was like a magician’s trick: look, nothing in the box, but wait, look again.</p><p>The rest of the room was dedicated to the machine’s operation, diagnostics and research, a series of long tables, desks, computer terminals. Most of the flat surfaces had been overturned to serve as cover in the firefight, leaving papers and other detritus scattered all over the floor. The main entrance to the lab was a set of thick steel double doors, locking bar still smoking where it had been cut through. The secret exit had been disguised as one of the many metal storage cabinets with a false back panel. Above, a wide observation window on the second floor looked out over the lab.</p><p>There were a lot of bodies to check. It had been a massacre on all sides; Alex had not yet had an operation go quite this badly before. What could he have done differently? If he hadn’t retreated back to the temporary base with Sagitta and his prisoners, they would have been caught here between the two Glaive teams the same as Saffron and Chronos. Could he and his team have made a difference? Maybe. Probably. Alex had been the only one to think of the maintenance corridors.</p><p>Or maybe he’d be dead and Yassen would be the one standing here. Then Yassen could handle all of this and do a lot better job than Alex.</p><p>“Sir,” Hill handed him a clipboard someone had dug up from elsewhere in the lab. Laid across the board were strips of masking tape with initials and numbers written on in black marker, the end of each strip wrapped around a wad of bloody gauze. There were thirteen strips filled out and an empty one at the top, a piece of clean gauze and a marker stuck under the board’s clip.</p><p>Alex looked at Hill. There wasn’t any sympathy there, nor any malice. Hill was just giving him the chance to do it himself.</p><p>He uncapped the marker and wrote in the numbers he'd memorized in that suffocating red corridor. <em>Y.G. - 09:22</em>. Then he stared at the piece of clean white gauze still clipped above.</p><p>“Sir,” Hill said again when Alex had paused for too long. “I can—”</p><p>“No,” Alex snapped. He was suddenly sure that the only thing worse than seeing the body again was somebody <em>else</em> seeing it. They would think it was a dead body. They’d think Yassen was dead, and he wasn’t.</p><p>He went back through the cabinet’s secret door, stepping carelessly on fallen Glaive soldiers. One shifted, groaning, not quite dead yet. Alex shot him with a flare of furious heat that vanished as quickly as it appeared.</p><p>Yassen (<em>just his body</em>) laid exactly where Alex had set him down. His eyes were open, gun in hand, finger still on the trigger. The bullet had gone straight through his heart. Instantaneous. It was just luck; the Glaive soldier hadn’t even been aiming at him. </p><p>Alex knelt beside for a moment, swabbing gauze in the gore. </p><p>Quietly he promised: “I’ll see you soon,” and stood.</p>
<hr/><p>Someone—probably someone from Danube on Hill’s orders—had warned Sagitta what to expect, because Marcus didn’t lose a step when he met Alex topside in the blown-out garage.</p><p>“It’s been quiet up here,” Marcus reported. “We caught this one trying to escape, but he wasn’t any trouble.”</p><p>It was one of Fabrice’s research assistants, the one Alex had thought was probably the traitor. Sean Yarrow.</p><p>“Can he operate the Cutter?” Alex asked, looking at Marcus but loud enough for Yarrow to hear.</p><p>“Yes!” Yarrow exclaimed, squirming agitatedly from his trussed-up position on the garage’s floor. “I know how to operate it, I can make it work, I can—”</p><p>Marcus spoke over him. “So far he’s only been offering us money.”</p><p>SCORPIA wasn’t here for money—they were here to <em>buy</em> Fabrice at a price of his own choosing, which Yarrow was aware of. It would have been smarter to offer up the knowledge SCORPIA wanted to buy instead of money. That he hadn’t meant that either he didn’t have the knowledge or he wasn’t that smart.</p><p>Alex signaled Saffron’s second, Dima, to come over; their commander was on the clipboard tucked under Alex’s arm. “Take him to the cells down below. Keep him alive. Beyond that, I don’t care what you do. He’s the one who opened the door for Glaive.”</p><p>“We’re holding the facility?” Marcus asked as they watched Dima drag Yarrow away.</p><p>“The Cutter needs a certain setup,” Alex explained. “Fabrice’s first lab imploded. This is the only one still in existence, and it’s very defensible as long as you don’t have someone opening doors from the inside.”</p><p>“Sir, radios are back up.” Hill approached again with a nod of greeting for Marcus. “My team has the coordinates for the facility’s other exit. Glaive was long gone, tracks matched with more Humvees,” gesturing at the empty vehicles still circled around the garage.</p><p>That was nothing more than Alex had expected. They couldn’t have followed Glaive down the escape tunnel; it would have funneled them straight into a killing crossfire on the other side.</p><p>“Is there a way to secure the tunnel from that side?” Alex asked.</p><p>“More blast doors, also opened from the inside. We should be able to secure the entire facility fairly easily.”</p><p>“Do it. You, Saffron, and Chronos will be staying here.” Alex could feel Marcus’ question without even looking at him. Marcus was a soldier first; he instinctively felt the greater strength was in numbers and equipment. Alex explained, “We’re going to be hunting them down. The fewer people we have, the less noise we’ll make moving everyone around. I’d take you for a siege, not for an extraction strike.”</p><p>Both team leaders nodded, accepting the logic. Alex hefted the Cutter mechanism’s case into both hands, forcing himself to let go of the handle. His fingers uncurled with stiff reluctance. He hadn’t set it down since he’d picked it up.</p><p>“This is staying here with you,” Alex said, offering it to Hill with the clipboard on top.</p><p>Danube’s commander took the case with all the solemn gravitas Alex felt it deserved: as if he was holding fourteen lives, thirteen valuable and one priceless. One of the names on the list belonged to Danube. SCORPIA teams might be resigned to losing members, but nobody liked it.</p><p>With that settled, Alex and Sagitta loaded up into their transport, and Alex stared at one of the seats and abruptly remembered he still had three prisoners to deal with.</p><p>He couldn’t spare Mace and Ivey, the two who’d stayed behind, to keep the Riders where they were. Not only did he need Sagitta complete, two men were not enough to watch over three prisoners—even three normal prisoners, let alone two agents. </p><p>And he couldn’t move the Riders into Fabrice’s base, despite the convenient cells, because he knew what would happen to them if he never came back. He could give as many orders as he liked; posthumously they’d be worth jack shit to Danube, Saffron, and Chronos. Their dispensation would fall to Doctor Three, and Alex was <em>not</em> gift-wrapping his parents and uncle into the doctor’s hands.</p><p>So really there was only one thing to do. It was almost a relief to have all the good choices taken away.</p>
<hr/><p>Alex pushed open the door and stopped on the threshold. Slowly he turned an interrogative look on Mace.</p><p>“They escaped, sir,” Mace explained, setting his cards down guiltily. He and the others were all sitting on rubber exercise balls gathered around and using the MRE supply crate as a makeshift table to play cards. “But we, er, managed to convince them to stick around.”</p><p>Ivey dropped his own cards with what looked like relief. Helen scowled and said, “I was winning that round.”</p><p>“I thought you were bluffing,” Ian said, glancing dismayed at her hand.</p><p>John was the only one who seemed to be sitting out on the poker game, although he was right beside Helen as moral support. He stood as Alex finally came into the room, straightening up tensely. Ivey, Mace, and Ian caught on a second later.</p><p>“Where’s Yassen?” John asked.</p><p>Was it written on Alex’s face? Or, no, John was familiar enough with Yassen to know that he should have been in the lead.</p><p>“Tell them,” Alex ordered shortly, hands already finding the straps and buckles to loosen his armor as he went to the office he’d claimed. He needed a change of clothes to replace the ones he’d sweated through and a three-minute shower to wash the worst of it off.</p><p>Before that, though, he cracked open the laptop and fired off a barely passable report to Doctor Three and a few top-priority requests for information from SCORPIA’s operatives and networks. Hopefully by the time he was done he would have enough to get started on tracking down Glaive.</p><p>In the short trip between the office and the showers, a bundle of clothes in his arms, Alex avoided looking over at his family. He still managed to see the three of them standing with Marcus, and that his mum was holding his dad’s hand up near her mouth. A normal teenager would probably have been grossed out by the PDA; Alex’s heart just hurt.</p><p>When he pulled off the armored vest outside the shower, something dropped to the tiled floor with the quiet <em>clink</em> of metal on ceramic. He bent to pick up a flattened bullet, looking at it with dumb surprise for a long moment. Then he looked at his vest, where, hidden between two of the pockets, there was a shallow divot low and just left of center. He hadn’t even noticed getting hit except—</p><p>Except when he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest and couldn’t breathe, right after Yassen fell.</p><p>Alex carefully set the bullet down on the bench outside the shower. Four minutes later he emerged feeling cleaner but not much more like a human being. He tucked the spent bullet into a pocket, zipped it closed, and went to face his family.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>Chorus:</em><br/>Woman, be sure your heart is brave; you can take much.<br/><em>Cassandra:</em><br/><strong>None but the unhappy people</strong> ever heard such praise.</p>
</blockquote>Aeschylus’ <em>The Oresteia: Agamemnon</em> (tr. Richmond Lattimore)
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. wolf-father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just finished the last official chapter, so updates should start coming fairly quickly as I just need to make final edits. The total chapter count is subject to change, because I have ideas for a couple of epilogues which may or may not past muster for posting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex came out of the locker room still toweling his hair dry. This time he went straight for where John, Helen, and Ian were clustered up protectively but not defensively. No one had tried to ‘recapture’ them, which John took as a good sign.</p><p>For a certain value of good, anyway.</p><p>Alex stopped a few paces away, flicking his eyes to Marcus while keeping his head turned toward John and Ian.</p><p>“They know about what happened at the lab,” Marcus said, neatly dancing around actually saying <em>Yassen is dead</em> in a way that would have clued John into Alex’s mental state even if he didn’t already have a good idea. With a bit of annoyance showing, he added, “They figured the rest of the plan out on their own.”</p><p>It wasn’t like it was hard to put together, John thought. It was a puzzle with two pieces.</p><p>Alex seemed to share the sentiment because he just shrugged indifferently. “It doesn’t matter.” He looked at Ian, then John and Helen in turn. “With the change in circumstances, you have reduced options. We’re going to drop you off in the nearest town with a credit card. If you use the card and stay under the radar, we’ll come pick you up when this operation is complete. With SCORPIA’s resources, you’ll all get new lives and identities in whatever country you want.</p><p>“If you don’t use the card, I won’t look for you.” Alex let that statement hang in the air between them, all the implications drifting in a cloud around it. <em>You can disappear; you can go back to MI6; you can do whatever you want; you won’t see me again</em>.</p><p>Helen had a crushing grip on John’s hand. He exchanged a glance with Ian; they hadn’t actually discussed anything aloud yet, but they’d traded the same look earlier when Marcus told them about Yassen and Fabrice. Ian nodded.</p><p>John took half a step forward—enough to get their attention fully without being a threat. “Option number three,” he said it like he was reminding Alex of something he'd forgotten. “We come with and help you get Fabrice back.”</p><p>Alex’s eyes widened and he shifted weight onto his back foot, practically a flashing neon sign saying ‘you’ve surprised me!’ in their line of work. John wondered which option he’d expected them to take. Maybe he hadn’t gone in with an expectation; between never having met his parents and learning so much about Ian only after he was dead, Alex might not feel like he knew them at all.</p><p>Alex’s expression closed off, arms crossing in front of him and tucking his hands into his elbows. As masks went John could give him some pointers—it was too obvious that he was hiding an emotional response. Then again, John was glad that Alex hadn’t mastered this skill yet. It meant he hadn’t needed to.</p><p>“You want your old job back, Hunter?” Alex said. John thought that it was a stalling tactic, just something to say. “You can understand why SCORPIA might not be hiring.”</p><p>“Aren’t you SCORPIA?” John asked, tilting his head and shrugging a little while he threw Alex’s earlier words back at him. More seriously he continued, “Alex. If I go back to MI6—if either of us go back,” gesturing between himself and Ian, “We’re well aware of how we would be used against you, and that’s <em>if</em> they buy this frankly implausible story, which is no guarantee. I wouldn’t hand Yassen over to MI6, I’m not going to do any less for you.”</p><p>“I’m practically a stranger,” Alex pointed out, voice rough. “I’m not your kid, you didn’t raise me, we just happen to share blood.”</p><p>John didn’t know how he could possibly explain, in just the next few minutes, how misguided that belief was. Alex didn’t have a kid—<em>god, I hope he doesn’t have a kid at this age, no, wait, Yassen would have mentioned it</em>—so how could he be expected to understand? John didn’t even try. Instead he said, “Blood’s a decent place to start. Give me a chance to get to know you. Let me—let us—help you.”</p><p>Alex was frozen still and tense, arms still crossed defensively. His eyes darted from John to Ian to Helen quickly, then once to Marcus. Finally he rasped out, “No. Maybe... after.” Alex turned away from them dismissively, going over to where the combat team was milling around and watching them. “Marcus, how long until everything is packed up?” </p><p>Ian moved as if to catch Alex’s attention again, but John held him back, shaking his head. Helen asked, “John?” recognizing his thoughtful expression.</p><p>“Give me a second,” John murmured to them both. He thought he’d seen something, a flash of yearning. Alex had <em>wanted</em> to say yes for a moment there, until something changed his mind. </p><p>What was it? He’d had a thought, a memory. No; if it was something like that, it would be another argument and he would have used it. </p><p>What <em>wouldn’t</em> you talk about? Things that could be used against you. Secrets and fears. There was something Alex wanted to keep secret or something he feared. Or both.</p><p>
  <em>Give me a chance to get to know you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe after.</em>
</p><p>Ah. Of course.</p><p>“Got it,” John muttered. He released Helen’s hand and clapped Ian on the shoulder, telling them both to stay where they were as he followed Alex.</p><p>The combat team coiled up around their young leader as he approached; Alex turned already wearing a flat and slightly irritated expression. John stopped at an unthreatening distance.</p><p>He said, “I was SCORPIA’s best attack dog for years.” His tone was quiet, sincere. Ian and Helen hopefully couldn’t hear him. They both had a decent idea of the work he’d done while undercover, but hearing it from the horse’s mouth was another thing altogether. “I’m sure you understand what that means—what it took to get there. Some of my assassinations were faked, but the vast majority were not. I’ve killed and done worse to a lot of people, Alex. I won’t judge you for doing the same, for better reasons than I had.”</p><p>Alex’s mouth had dropped open slightly in confusion. He closed it, swallowed, and said, “Undercover is a pretty good reason. I’m just—I was just saving my own life.”</p><p>John was shaking his head before Alex even finished. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. SCORPIA grew stronger from my work, I got killed, and nothing got better. You’ve changed more than I ever managed. Just, I need you to understand—nothing you’re going to do to get Fabrice back will be anything I haven’t seen before. Or done myself. Please, let me help you.”</p><p>Alex bit the inside of his mouth, conflicted. John saw the teetering decision and put his thumb on the scale, adding with a wry smile, “And if you still say no, I’m going to take that credit card and use it to do my best to follow you anyway. Probably best to keep me where you can see me.”</p><p>Alex’s breath came out in an exasperated huff, as if surprised at the audacity. “Fine,” he said. “Someone find their shoes and get them loaded up with everything else.” With that, Alex walked away again. He didn’t seem to know any other way to end a conversation.</p><p>John looked around at the unimpressed combat team, smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet once. He said, “So… who’s got my shoes?”</p>
<hr/><p>Alex sat near the front of the RV transport, laptop open on his knees as he alternated between rapid typing and tapping at the trackpad. At one point, he conducted an entire phone call in Arabic. John had no idea what was said; he’d mastered most Anglo-European languages and learned Russian for Yassen, but he only knew how to say ‘thank you’ and ‘move or I’ll kill you’ in Arabic. Alex’s conversation included neither of those things.</p><p>“You know, I still don’t even know where we are?” John said to Adams, who was sitting across from him on the other bench seat.</p><p>Adams put down the technical magazine he’d been reading, throwing a glance up toward Marcus who was sitting across from Alex. Marcus made a <em>go ahead</em> gesture with one hand.</p><p>“Eastern United States,” Adams said vaguely. “New England area, edge of Green Mountain National Forest.”</p><p>John nodded. More specific information—like, say, the nearest town or city—would only be useful if he was planning on leading anyone back to Fabrice’s base, especially since they were leaving the area. “And we’re going to…?”</p><p>“Boston.” The short answer came from Alex, both thumbs tapping at his phone as he texted someone. “Satellites show them heading toward the city.”</p><p>“SCORPIA has <em>satellites</em> now?” John asked, impressed.</p><p>“No, but the CIA does.” Marcus gave Alex an alarmed look, probably wondering what Alex had done to get his hands on those. Alex rolled his eyes and said, “Byrne still owed me one for the tip on Ronaldo and the thing in Seattle.”</p><p>“Joe Byrne?” Ian said in a strangled voice. For clarification, he added, “You’re texting the Director of the CIA, Joe Byrne?”</p><p>“I send him birthday cards, too,” Alex said, his attention mostly back on the laptop. “He keeps asking for my address so he can return the favor.”</p><p>Ian looked around the transport at the combat team. “Birthday cards,” he said flatly.</p><p>Marcus shrugged. “Mister Gregorovich told him he should stop.”</p><p>“Yassen thinks it’s funny,” Alex corrected, expression pinching up painfully for a moment. “And what he said was if it got me caught by the CIA he’d let Doctor Three organize the rescue. Which it won’t. Their agents are shit, the only thing they’ve got going for them is a big budget that pays for stuff like great satellite coverage.”</p><p>“Thinking things like that is the first step to dangerously underestimating someone,” John warned. He’d only done it once, early in his career, and he’d been lucky enough to both live and learn.</p><p>Alex’s head shot up to stare at John. “Oh my god,” he said faintly. “That’s a <em>you</em> thing, isn’t it? Yassen got that from you.”</p><p>John grinned, pleased. “Oh, did he already tell you that one?”</p><p>Alex made a complex face, sort of reluctantly amused and then falling into guilt. He bent his head to the laptop again without saying another word, so John assumed he’d realized he was getting distracted and felt guilty over that.</p><p>Helen patted John on the knee as a silent consolation. See, <em>she</em> was smart enough not to draw Alex’s attention away for idle chitchat, and he knew how much she wanted to talk to Alex.</p><p>Shale cleared his throat, leaning forward against his belt to ask, “Sorry, ma’am, I never caught your name?”</p><p>“Oh,” Helen said, sounding surprised. John had told her at the beginning of all of this to be quiet and let him draw attention away from her, and she’d taken it to heart. Shale may not have even heard her talk yet. “It’s Helen. Rider, of course. And you’re… Jarek?”</p><p>“Shale,” he corrected with a grin. “Jarek’s the one who makes stuff blow up, I’m the one who shoots things from far away.”</p><p>“Hey,” Jarek interrupted, his tone drawling. “I shoot stuff too. I’m multidimensional.”</p><p>“Yeah? Spell it, then.”</p><p>Jarek enunciated carefully, “F, U, C, K, Y, O, U.”</p><p>“No, I’m fairly certain there isn’t an F in that word,” Helen said, biting her lip on a smile.</p><p>“Maybe you can borrow some of Mister Rider’s textbooks,” Shale suggested. “Although they might be a little too advanced for you.”</p><p>“So he’s keeping up with his schooling even though he’s… um. An assassin?” Helen asked delicately.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Shale said, turning back to her with an earnest nod. Sounding somewhat like a proud parent or older brother, he added, “He’s taking college courses online when he has time.”</p><p>Helen was very pleased to hear this. “What’s his major?”</p><p>“Weeeeell, he can’t really take a full course load, obviously. Being SCORPIA’s heir doesn’t stick to a forty hour work week. But officially he’s working toward a political science degree, with a minor in anthropology.”</p><p>“Really?” Ian broke into the conversation. He repeated in a bewildered tone, “Anthropology?”</p><p>John understood the confusion. Poli-sci, sure—that made sense. Anthropology seemed a little out of left field.</p><p>Shale’s expression turned a little colder when he glanced at Ian, but he replied, “Yeah. It was funny—he started out with psychology, but after one psych class…” Shale grimaced. “Decided it wasn’t for him. Liked the anthro course though.”</p><p>“Did he say what he likes about it?” Helen asked Shale.</p><p>“They both study people.” That was Alex, eyes still locked on his computer screen but apparently free enough to listen in. “But unlike psychology, anthropology doesn’t pretend to be a—” his hand left the trackpad for a second to wave around vaguely, “—big important science, with diagnoses and everything.” It wasn’t a great explanation and he seemed to realize it because he said, “Sorry. Busy. You can keep talking.”</p><p>Shale leaned in further and said in an undertone, “He’s had a bad opinion of psychology ever since Byrne texted him the CIA’s psych eval files on him.”</p><p>“Oh, well, that’s not concerning at all,” Ian muttered under his breath, too quiet for anyone but John to hear. John elbowed him in the ribs in warning. Of course Alex would have issues. John and Ian had bought him his first two subscriptions.</p><p>Come to think of it, John wasn’t a big fan of psychology either.</p><p>His attention mostly left their conversation, turning to consider the rest of the combat team. Mace, like Adams, was reading a book; Jarek had been too before Shale drew him into conversation. Aranda had an earbud in one ear, head tipped back against the wall and eyes closed. Marcus was periodically moving between the driver’s compartment where Ivey was and his seat across from Alex. When he was seated, he usually pulled out a tablet wrapped in a thick protective case to tap away at.</p><p><em>I’ve had worse backup before</em>, John thought.</p><p>“Hey,” Adams said, closing his magazine on a finger to keep his place. He wasn’t planning to talk for long. When John raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, “What should we call you? John, Hunter…? Mister Rider’s already taken.”</p><p>John could <em>feel</em> the sudden weight of Ian’s scrutiny, despite his brother still being nominally involved in talking about Alex’s classwork and life so far. It was not helpful. “Call me Hunter,” John said, knowing Ian wouldn’t have much trouble figuring out why.</p><p>Having Helen and Ian here with SCORPIA was bad enough already, mixing the contents of two very volatile boxes. He didn’t want to be <em>John</em> for what was coming next.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Wolf-father</strong>, at the door<br/>You don't smile anymore<br/>You're a drifter, shape-shifter<br/>Let me see you run, hey-ya hey-ya</p>
</blockquote>- <em>Wolf</em>, First Aid Kit<hr/><p>I imagine after reading psych evals from like 6 different shrinks that all say wildly different things about him (mostly due to incomplete information) and that he disagrees with, Alex would develop an intense disrespect for the entire field of psychology. I'm sorry to any actual psychologists.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. si vis pacem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex bit at the rough edge of a nail as he watched the seconds tick away. He felt like pieces of himself, his self-control, were being winnowed away with each passing minute. He’d been able to talk to his parents and team like a real person less than an hour ago, but now every spoken word grated along his nerves like a steel file and his temper was a pot on the edge of boiling.</p><p>According to Marcus’ last estimate from Ivey, they weren’t going to be in time to do anything to stop the plane—unless Alex did something <em>really</em> drastic with a missile, which he wasn’t going to do. For one thing, Byrne would have kittens and be pissy about it for months if Alex shot down a plane on American soil. For another, there was no guarantee that Fabrice would survive.</p><p>But that was Glaive’s mistake: they’d traded secrecy for speed. Air travel was tracked meticulously, all flight plans were scheduled and recorded, and deviation from the plan was more trouble than it was worth even for Glaive Defense Services, especially over American airspace. So Alex knew where the plane was going to land (London, which was either cosmic punishment for Alex’s sins or Glaive fucking with him) and all he had to do was arrange for a team to intercept them on their way out of the airport. Glaive would do their best to secure their route, of course, but that could be overcome once you threw enough bodies and ordinance at the problem.</p><p>Alex frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. This felt wrong. It was all too… simple. He’d already reviewed SCORPIA’s files on Glaive tactics, and this situation fit with what they knew of Glaive’s typical hit-and-run missions. They hit hard and fast to retrieve an objective, got out of the area ahead of any pursuit, and went to ground somewhere far away. It was an effective tactic that meshed well with Glaive's reputation for efficiency; so far no one, ever, had been able to recover whatever Glaive targeted.</p><p>Alex knew he was pretty good at his job, but good enough to be the first? SCORPIA and Glaive didn’t clash in the field often; usually their competition was about who got the most lucrative contracts. This would be the first time pitting SCORPIA resources and men against this particular Glaive tactic—could they succeed where a long list of people, including the CIA, MI6, and the GID, had failed? And how had those people failed when the solution was so transparent?</p><p>He picked viciously at the edges of a nail bed, uncaring of the little sparks of pain it sent up his finger.</p><p>The answers in SCORPIA’s files were insufficient. Not enough manpower in the one case; failure to correctly anticipate the enemy’s actions in another. Still more instances where SCORPIA didn’t have enough information to be able to pinpoint where exactly things had gone wrong.</p><p>Restless, his hand found the pocket with the flattened bullet. He took it out completely covered by his hand, so that no one else saw it, and clenched his fingers around the jagged edges until his knuckles went white.</p><p>The counteraction was simple and yet it had failed every time. Alex was missing something.</p><p>He checked the analyst reports again. Doctor Three had authorized freeing up every available resource and several that weren’t technically available; Alex had analyses back almost as soon as he asked for them. It was how he’d found Glaive’s scheduled flight, how he’d managed a secure connection to Byrne in minutes instead of the hours it usually took.</p><p>Glaive had a small, permanent office in Boston near the top floors of a tall office building. The real, important clients never saw the office or any of the intimidating public-facing people who industriously went in and out of its doors every day because that office was a facade for the dirty business going on elsewhere. The facade handled the company's other assets in the city and put a thin veneer of respectability on them, hidden under various shells.</p><p>He turned the bullet over and over in one hand, hidden down by his leg. His fingertips found a jagged edge, pressed it under the nail the way Doctor Three had done with needles in RTI.</p><p>Alex came at it from another angle: assume he was in Glaive’s position, trying to escape with an uncooperative, recently acquired asset. He had the local support to hide subtle movements of materiel and personnel. That had enabled him to book a flight on short notice…</p><p>He checked the record again. The flight plan had been finalized in the early morning, before Glaive could have even laid a hand on Fabrice. The time allotted for the Glaive soldiers to retrieve Fabrice and get to the airport was tiny, a timeline where <em>minutes</em> mattered. Speed was of the essence, yes, but it was stupid to cut the margins so razor-thin. If the soldiers had been delayed another half an hour by anything, by SCORPIA’s combat teams or <em>bad traffic</em>, they would miss their flight. The airports weren’t nice about just letting you take off a few minutes late, either. Late flights were their exclusive domain.</p><p>The gamble had paid off; Glaive was going to get to the airport in time. (Alex briefly considered and discarded the idea of phoning in a bomb threat. Such a heavy-handed move would sour relations with the FBI and CIA, and Glaive might just take off anyway and pay a fine.) Why had they gambled at all?</p><p><em>But there’s no risk if they’re not going by plane</em>, Alex thought, tabbing over to the other analyses of ways Glaive could be trying to move Fabrice out. Boston was a good city for it; you could leave by land, sea, or air. The analysts had only found Glaive movement around the airport, but in his mind’s eye Alex could see Marinescu docking at Santa Catarina in the <em>Victory</em> when half the other buyers arrived by helicopter, and he knew in his gut that this was the answer he’d been missing. The official agencies didn’t track boats as closely as they did planes.</p><p>It was a fake-out; maybe it had been a fake-out every time Glaive pulled this. The recovery missions always failed because the objective was never where they thought it was. Alex had little doubt that a man who <em>looked</em> like Fabrice would be shuffled quickly through the airport in an hour or so, but that would not be the real man.</p><p>He covered his bases anyway, stowing the spent bullet back in a pocket before updating Doctor Three with his newest theory in a short email, then sending orders to a team in London to track Glaive off the flight when it came in. By the time he had confirmation from that team, the good Doctor had replied with <em>conditional</em> approval. He’d let Alex handle this, but if Alex didn’t have Fabrice in hand within the next two days, Three was going to come in and take over.</p><p>A wave of blazing red fury washed through Alex, washing out his vision and sitting heavy like a thunderstorm in his head. His hands clamped down on the edges of the laptop so hard it made plastic creaking noises of protest; every other muscle tensed and froze in place as he clawed back the blind imperative to jump up and hit something, hurt, <em>kill</em>.</p><p>An endless amount of time later, the haze receded enough that he could draw in a ragged breath. He could feel it lurking, just waiting for another moment of weakness, as it had been since the lab. A glance at the clock on the laptop’s screen told him it had been less than a minute; a glance around the transport showed that the moment of insanity had gone unnoticed.</p><p>Alex knew without a flicker of doubt that if Doctor Three had been within striking distance during that fit, one or both of them would be dead now. He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.</p><p>He took a deep, calming breath, willing it to cool down the fiery headache building in the back of his skull. He was going to get Yassen back; Doctor Three’s time limit was irrelevant and unnecessary. Alex was going to do it or die trying. He couldn’t live with the failure any more than he could live with that psychotic blood-lust lying in wait until it subsumed him entirely.</p><p>Focus and movement were the only things that allowed him to ignore it for any length of time. Focus. Concentrate. Where had he been…? Right.</p><p>Alex clicked away from Doctor Three’s message and retrieved the list of every public and private docking point in the Boston area. He ranked them from most to least likely, and started searching.</p><p>There would be nothing obvious in the available records, or SCORPIA’s analysts would have found it. Alex wasn’t sure what he could search for that they wouldn’t have already checked. First-time visits from new boats turned up too large a list to be workable, even cross matched with the list of Glaive’s other known well-frequented ports.</p><p>Maybe Yarrow, the traitor assistant, knew something about Glaive’s movements. A narrower arrival window would help. Alex texted an order to Hill to interrogate their prisoner. It took a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t feeling the usual pang of conscience; that a part of him might, in fact, <em>like </em>to hear Yarrow screaming right now. He pushed the thought out of mind with effort and a sick twist in his stomach, turning his attention once again to the marinas.</p><p>Thanks to the <em>Fer de Lance</em> and Yassen’s insistence that Alex learn at least a little bit about everything, he knew somewhat more about boats than the average person. Anything used as a mobile base for Glaive would need to be big and armored, with larger than usual gas tanks. Alex filtered the records for everything above a certain size, sorted by the amount of gas the boat had purchased, and wound up with a list of a manageable size. </p><p>After that, it was a matter of manually, visually checking each boat’s slip through marina cameras. It was almost a relief to occupy his mind with something so tedious and concentrating. He was hoping to see some outward sign: a boat sitting lower in the water than it should because of heavy armoring and load, guards visibly posted on the deck.</p><p>Halfway down the list, what he got was—</p><p>“That arrogant son of a bitch,” Alex said aloud.</p><p>They’d changed the name and registration, but he’d know the <em>Victory </em>anywhere.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><em>si vis pacem</em> — Latin; meaning, <em>if you want peace</em></p><hr/><p>Alex is naught but a well-armed angry teenager with far too much Responsibility and not enough Sleep, pin-balling rapidly between the denial and anger stages of grief.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. fac bellum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't have to warn ya'll about violence and a bit of blood, right? We're all in this fandom, we know what we're in for.</p><p>This chapter diverges from my usual single-POV shtick. It just worked better that way.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The marina was an upscale, high-class affair. It boasted tight security from the unwashed masses in the form of cameras everywhere and a complement of armed guards, all the better to keep sticky-fingered thieves from the empty yachts and all valuables contained therein.</p><p>The guards were not similarly good for keeping out spies and mercenary terrorists.</p><p>It was dusk; the light was too weak to cast shadows, so everything was covered in a misty kind of darkness. Outside of regular operating hours, boats weren’t supposed to leave without permission from the Dockmaster. This wasn’t ordinarily a problem because he was paid a lot of money to be available by phone call, text, or email at all hours, but nobody had been able to reach him to get permission to lower the marina’s gate, which was raised at night to prevent <em>the undesirables</em> from getting in; there was no point in posting a guard on the road if you let anyone with a paddle-board come in by water.</p><p>The Glaive soldier currently arguing with the gate technician seemed to be about two minutes away from choking the tech into unconsciousness and lowering the gate himself. He didn’t get the chance.</p><p>A shadow shifted behind the irritated soldier, the only prelude to an explosion of movement that ended with the soldier on the ground, arterial blood gushing and spurting from a slit throat, and another figure crouched over the body wiping a large knife clean on the dark clothes.</p><p>The technician, whose name-tag read Grayson, made a strangled noise. Some of the blood had spattered diagonally across his face.</p><p>The murderer finished cleaning his knife and stood. He was wearing a black balaclava over the bottom half of his face and a dark bandanna over his hair, so that only a strip of skin and eyes showed. Those eyes flicked down, then up, and he said, “Grayson? You’ve been really good so far. Don’t start screaming now.”</p><p>Grayson shook his head rapidly to indicate that he might never speak again, actually.</p><p>“Good,” the murderer said. “You can calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to make sure you don’t lower that gate. If you do start screaming, or try to call for help, I’m going to have to knock you out and tie you up. You stay nice and quiet, you won’t even have a headache tomorrow.”</p><p>Grayson nodded eagerly, jaw still locked up tight. He could feel the blood going cold and drying on his face. It was, aside from the man in front of him, pretty much the only thing he could focus on.</p><p>The murderer tapped a radio wire hanging under one ear and said, “Dock gate is secure, one hostile down.” With his free hand, he reached into a pocket in his vest and, incongruously, brought out a wet-wipe packet. He offered it to Grayson. “Here, kid, you’ve got some blood on your....” He gestured to his own face with a circular motion.</p><p>“Thank you,” Grayson whispered, taking the packet with one trembling hand.</p><hr/><p>“Confirmed,” Alex replied to Shale. That was the last report they needed before full engagement. Shale held the gatehouse; Aranda and Ivey had taken the guards on the road in the main guard house. There was no route of escape left, unless someone wanted to swim for it in the freezing cold water. “How does the deck look, Hunter?”</p><p>“Two hostiles having a smoke break near the bow. Ian and Adams are clear to stern.”</p><p>“Good to know,” that was Adams, almost exactly on time. “Disabling the engine now.”</p><p>“Ian?” Hunter asked. He hadn’t liked sending in Ian with Adams in their only two sets of SCUBA gear, but nobody else (aside from Alex, an even worse idea) was trained for it.</p><p>“Yes, I’m here too. I have done this before, you know.” Ian’s voice came through distorted; he’d probably gotten the mic wet. The radios weren’t waterproof, so the two of them had been out of contact for the long swim up to the stern of the <em>Victory</em>.</p><p>“Done,” Adams announced quietly. “Standing by.”</p><p>“Third hostile on deck. Seems agitated.”</p><p>“We’re in position,” Marcus said. He, Jarek, Mace, and Alex had advanced as far as they could along the dock, keeping to deep shadows.</p><p>“Take the shot whenever you have it. On your signal.” Alex said, resisting the impulse to break cover and look at the <em>Victory</em> for himself.</p><p>Hunter was stationed on top of a nearby roof with a sniper rifle and a clear line of sight to the entire deck. It was such a good position that Glaive used to have two men guarding it; their bodies were currently cooling off in the chilly Boston air. He’d been loaned Shale’s rifle, and had admired it so vocally that Helen had made an only-partially-joking comment about infidelity.</p><p>“Give me thirty seconds,” Hunter said, voice a whisper. “I think they’re about to—” he saw the chance and took it as the men dropped their cigarette butts into the water and turned to go inside. Their heads lined up for a perfect moment, and then both fell like unstrung puppets. “That’s your signal,” he said needlessly, loading another bullet. He traced the third man’s scrambling path and nailed him right outside the door, the now-dead body still tumbling with momentum into the wall. “Deck is clear.”</p><p>Both teams were already moving. The two divers swarmed up the ladder at the back, Adams not stopping for a second before he was already slamming into a door at speed. It was thick, too reinforced to break through, so Adams set a small explosive on the lock. Marcus, the vanguard of Alex’s team, got on the deck in time to see a fourth Glaive soldier fall in the open doorway at the bow; he’d come to check on the concerning noises happening above, and Hunter hit him in the face, obliterating a look of shock.</p><p>Someone knocked on the roof access door behind Hunter. He was too well-trained to twitch, but like lightning his mind zapped from point to point—sidearm strapped to his thigh, draw and turn just so to aim for center mass on the average—but hostiles wouldn’t <em>knock—</em></p><p>“John?” Helen said, peeking out of a small gap in the door. She had to shove to get it open more; one of the bodies had fallen and partially barricaded it. “Oh,” she said when she saw the obstruction.</p><p>John took a deep breath to calm his suddenly rapid heartbeat, trying to sink back into the cold clear mindset of Hunter. “Honey, I thought we agreed you were going to wait in the car.”</p><p>“I agreed that you thought I should,” Helen said, picking her way carefully over the bodies in the dark. “Not that I would.”</p><p>“It’s just that this is a bit dangerous,” John/Hunter pointed out, looking down his scope. The deck was clear and would probably remain so; both teams had breached into the boat. Not long now. The <em>Victory</em> wasn’t big enough to have many corners to hide in. “And I’d rather you not watch me kill people.”</p><p>“John, I’m a nurse. I’ve seen dead people before.” Helen crouched down next to him, looking out over the view of the marina and the water. After a moment he could feel her searching through the pockets on his vest for something.</p><p>“Lower left,” John said, guessing what she was after. He was perfectly still, scope never wavering from the target, but he’d given up on trying to get back into Hunter’s clinical, removed headspace.</p><p>She found the binoculars, saying, “Oh, thank you. Anyway, I never had a problem with you killing people. It’s the risking your life part I don’t like.”</p><p>Now was not the time for this conversation, but—“What, really?”</p><p>“Yes, obviously. Get the other guy before he gets you and all that.” Someone came scrambling out of a nearly invisible hatch in the deck, having made it past the teams inside. John discouraged the attempted escape with a neat hole in the man’s head. Beside him, Helen made an uncertain sort of noise and said, “Nice shot. Is that what they say? It was very clean.”</p><p>John had to give her points for trying—a lot of points. She had almost managed to sound sincere. She was <em>trying</em>, and it was more than he had ever wanted to ask of her.</p><p>“It’s like I don’t even know who you are,” John complained, pretending to believe her and taking a breath to settle himself. Hunter took deep satisfaction in his job and doing it well; he was having trouble remembering how John was supposed to feel about it.</p><p>She patted him on the shoulder in a consoling way, lightly enough not to jar his arm. “I just think that if you’re going to kill someone it’s good to do it quickly. No suffering. Seen too much of that to not appreciate a quick end.” It wasn’t as thin a justification as some he’d heard. It was something a person could come to believe in honestly.</p><p>“Right,” John said awkwardly, for lack of anything better.</p><p>A sudden flurry of static noise over the radio; Alex’s voice announced, “I have eyes on Fabrice.”</p><hr/><p>The inside of the <em>Victory</em> wasn’t cramped, but it was exactly spacious either. Two fully armed soldiers couldn’t walk side-by-side down a corridor together, although one could squeeze past another easily enough. Alex’s team—One—cleared the bow while Ian and Adams—Two—cleared the stern; they met in the middle and traded Mace over to even out the numbers. Team One went down and Two went up to clear the remaining space.</p><p>The yacht was far from empty. They’d already encountered and taken care of half a dozen Glaive hostiles and now the rest were on alert. Marcus had barely nudged an interior door before it was ripped apart by automatic weapons fire, forcing them to duck against the walls to either side. Marcus calmly tossed a flash grenade through the opening the second the firing stopped.</p><p>The corridor beyond turned out to be packed full of Glaive soldiers, stunned and reeling for the precious second it took the SCORPIA team to close the gap. As he moved into range, Alex thought: <em>the only reason for there to be this many of them here is if they were part of the team who were in the lab, who took Fabrice, and</em> killed—</p><p>Alex was behind Marcus and in front of Jarek, advancing on the Glaive soldiers, and then he blinked and he was feeling surprised, half-crouched at the other end of the corridor. He was holding the warm barrel of an unfamiliar shotgun in a two-handed grip so tight his knuckles hurt, although that might also have been because they were skinned and beading up blood. The metal stock of the shotgun was dented and bloodied; the corridor floor was crowded with bodies.</p><p>“Alex,” Marcus said again, clearly and carefully.</p><p>That was what had surprised him. Marcus very rarely called him by name and especially not in the middle of an op.</p><p>Alex dropped the shotgun, flexing his hand. Nothing broken even though he’d apparently punched someone—had a flashing visceral sense-memory of his knuckles connecting with something that gave underneath it. Looking back over his own memory, he could track himself through every movement: from shooting someone at point-blank range and swinging his sidearm back-handed into a pale white face, to grabbing the barrel of the shotgun and redirecting it into another Glaive soldier while it fired, to yanking it from a slack grip and using it as a club on someone else’s head. But he hadn’t been even remotely in control of any of those actions.</p><p>After checking that his radio was off, Alex rasped out in a crackling voice, “I think I might have a problem.” Marcus deserved to know, needed to know, that his boss was just barely clinging to sanity.</p><p>“Think it’s the first time I’ve seen this?” Marcus said, moving past Alex to take point again. “Ask Adams sometime why he left the Marines and how I found him. You’re doing fine, kid. I’ll start worrying when there’s friendly fire.”</p><p>Alex did not feel like he was doing fine, but he had a mission and the chance to set everything right, which was more than most people got.</p><p>There was no more resistance after that. The rooms they passed were empty or, once, contained what must be some of the yacht’s crew. Alex straightened up in that doorway, looking over the two men and one woman cowering. He felt the slightest touch of that mindless red anger, so light that it could be mistaken for warmth or comfort, and a cold and pitiless voice in his head echoed back a thought he’d had before: <em>they knew what they were signing on for</em>… </p><p>These people weren’t innocent. Nobody on this boat was innocent. His finger curled onto the trigger almost thoughtfully.</p><p>Marcus pulled him back out of the doorway before he could decide whether or not to listen to that voice. “Nothing worth worrying about in there,” he said, giving the three a Look that said not to make him a liar. “Jarek’s finished setting the charges in this section. Let’s get moving.” The words were a reminder for Alex and a warning for the employees to abandon ship. Maybe some of them would even make it past Hunter if they were quick enough.</p><p>They found Fabrice deep in the boat, in a section against the hull with ceilings so low they had to duck constantly. He was handcuffed to a cot in an otherwise empty cell, laying with his back to the door.</p><p>“I have eyes on Fabrice,” Alex said into his radio, moving to unlock the cuffs. They were the generic cop brand, so easy to pick that he might as well have had the key. “Doctor Fabrice? Can you hear me?</p><p>“Orion!” Fabrice gasped, proving he was both conscious and at least mostly lucid. “I wasn’t sure—well.”</p><p>“SCORPIA doesn’t let assets go so easily,” Alex said, helping him up with a hand under his elbow. He’d expected to feel… something upon seeing Fabrice, relief at the very least, but there was nothing. It wasn’t real yet. It wouldn’t be until he saw Yassen again.</p><p>More honestly he added, “And I need you to bring someone back.”</p><p>“Of course, yes, of course,” Fabrice babbled, clinging to him.</p><p>Alex handed Fabrice off to Marcus with a short order to get him off the boat, then tracked down Jarek a few rooms away</p><p>“All wired up and ready to blow, sir,” Jarek said, giving him a detonator. “Push the big red button to send this thing the way of the Titanic. You not coming with us?”</p><p>“No,” Alex said, already heading back the way they’d come. “I’m going to find whoever’s running this op.”</p><hr/><p>Yassen would not approve of Alex letting the mission get personal; Alex was looking forward to hearing his disapproval in person. As far as Glaive’s operation commander was aware, it shouldn’t be personal. Everyone who had seen Yassen fall was dead and none of them had had the opportunity to report it, if they’d even realized who it was in the dark tunnel.</p><p>Alex toggled over to Team Two’s radio channel on his way up through the boat’s decks, receiving a brief report from Adams—the <em>Victory</em> was secure, Two was waiting in the steering cabin with a man who’d given his name as Quint and his occupation as, unfortunately for him, ‘in charge here.’</p><p>“This way,” Mace waved Alex into the right room. “Adams got a little shot, but he’ll be okay.”</p><p>Adams and Ian were inside, Adams aiming his gun at a man kneeling in the center with his hands laced on top of his head. Ian stood off to the side against a wall, a bit uncomfortably. Alex recalled from the files that despite his long career, Ian hadn’t seen much action. His missions revolved around infiltration and information gathering; if things got actively violent, it was because something had gone wrong.</p><p>“It was a ricochet,” Adams said defensively, rotating around to make space for Alex without taking his eyes off his prisoner. “I’ll barely have a bruise.”</p><p>"Still, Marcus ordered you to stop getting shot."</p><p>Alex looked over Quint for a moment, noting a split eyebrow and thin trickle of blood but no other injuries. He’d passed more soldiers on the way in, which he took to mean that Quint had hidden here behind them while they died.</p><p>Knowing that didn’t change anything, but it did help.</p><p>Quint was looking back as Alex stopped in front of him, an expression of resignation changing to one of uncertainty. He’d recognized Orion, but Orion didn't have enough of a reputation to be predictable.</p><p>Alex let him look, instead turning his head to Ian to say, “You might want to leave for this part.”</p><p>Ian crossed his arms and put his weight back on his heels. “I think I’ll stay.”</p><p>Alex didn’t react, keeping up an indifferent front. He’d tried to give Ian an out, not that it would have mattered much. Ian was going to know either way. If he thought his  presence in the room might inspire restraint, he was about to have another thing coming. </p><p>Alex turned back to Quint, who was looking more confused than ever, and asked him, “Who do you answer to?”</p><p>Quint lost nothing by answering, “Stefan Morgenthau,” in a cautious tone, a thick French accent seeping through the short response. Glaive’s leadership was as well-known as SCORPIA’s, especially between the two organizations who spied on each other religiously. The name was familiar from Alex's research but they'd never crossed paths.</p><p>Alex nodded, pulling a burner flip phone out of a vest pocket. “Call him. One hand.”</p><p>Quint took the phone and dialed one-handed, the other remaining flat on the back of his head. He’d managed to mostly clear his expression by the time he offered the phone back to Alex, ringing loudly in the quiet room. Alex made a silent gesture for him to keep it.</p><p>The other end of the line picked up, demanding acerbically, “Who is this?”</p><p>Another silent command to speak; Quint said into the phone, “Sir, it’s Quint. SCORPIA—”</p><p>Alex shot him in the head.</p><p>He took his time retrieving the phone from Quint's lifeless grip, wiping a bit of blood off with his sleeve. When he put it up to his own ear, he’d almost managed to calm his racing heart. “Morgenthau, right?” Alex said into the silence on the other end. It made just enough noise that he knew Morgenthau hadn’t hung up.</p><p>After a mid-length pause, “That’s right. And you are?”</p><p>“Alex Rider. SCORPIA, but you knew that. Or did you? Because earlier today I would have <em>sworn</em> that Glaive also knew not to steal from SCORPIA, and yet here we are. I overestimated your intelligence; I promise you that won’t happen again. Make better choices next time.”</p><p>Alex flipped the phone closed with a satisfying <em>clack</em>, dropped it, turned on one heel and headed for the door. He managed not to look at or see Ian at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><em>fac bellum</em> — Latin; meaning, <em>make war</em></p><p>The original quote is <em>si vis pacem, para bellum</em> — if you want peace, prepare for war. Although to be specific <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Si_vis_pacem,_para_bellum#Background">the original original quote</a> is phrased differently, it was just shortened and moved around to make the translation less clunky. Through popularity it has gained a multitude of other versions.</p><hr/><p>Why did I not use Marinescu? I imagine that Glaive has more than one person in a 'board member' sort of position, so it makes sense that this would be someone we haven't seen before. Why did Morgenthau have Marinescu's boat? Based on Alex's first encounter with it, when he and Yassen sniped everyone aboard and none of whom were Marinescu, I felt safe assuming that it's basically a Glaive asset that anyone with enough authority can request to use.</p><p>And I think we really lost something when we moved away from being able to hang up on people with flip phones. It was just so satisfying.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. what you have tamed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The chapter count has increased again because there are 4 epilogue scenes currently and they're so tonally different from each other that I can't stick all 4 in the same chapter or you'll get whiplash. Next chapter, 15, will be the 'ending.' :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The strike team didn’t stay to watch the <em>Victory</em>’s fiery demise. They collected Shale on the way to the two armored SUVs they were using as transport; the rest of Sagitta was already loaded up and waiting. Alex got into one of the vehicles, waving off Fabrice’s second round of thanks, and sat, leaning his head back against the headrest. He could feel a pounding stress headache coming on as the post-combat adrenaline wore off.</p><p>Ian had followed him into the same SUV, of course. Alex wondered if he could have made the man take the other car, quickly coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t have been possible without use of force. And he’d need to have this talk eventually. There was no point in delaying it.</p><p>Before Ian could say anything, Alex began, “In order to graduate from Malagosto, you have to complete a solo assassination assignment.” A detached part of himself was proud of how calm he sounded.</p><p>Alex glanced to Fabrice; the man wasn’t the most socially adept, but he apparently caught on enough to pretend he was somewhere else unable to hear a word. Aranda handed him a pair of earbuds to put in, attached to an mp3 player.</p><p>“My target’s name was Lawrence Wright. MI6 agent undercover as a banker in Nice.” Alex saw Ian’s eyes widen fractionally, and recalled that he had often taken ‘business trips’ to France. They’d probably worked together. Ian might even have been Wright’s contact for ferrying things back to England.</p><p>Alex turned his head away to stare out the SUV’s window. “They picked him special for me, as a test. To see if I could pull the trigger on…” <em>You</em>. “My old life. I killed him from the roof of a middle school.”</p><p>Three years ago, Nile had said to Alex <em>you’ll look back on your first job and wonder why you worried so much</em>. Alex had never forgotten the dread and nausea of that first kill, but the person he was now would be able to take the shot with no hesitation. He recalled, vaguely, that that had been what he was worried about.</p><p>Ian didn’t say anything for a long time and Alex didn’t look at him to see why. He’d had the whole way from the <em>Victory</em> to the SUV to plan how he was going to handle this, and this was what he came up with. One chance to make Ian understand that Alex was an assassin, a murderer, a terrorist, and that he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. No going back. Alex would not leave Yassen and Sagitta and the chance to change SCORPIA into something a little better, even if it somehow became a real option. Not to mention Jack and Tom, both of them now very much involved.</p><p>The sooner Ian got that message, the better for everyone.</p><p>“I do know what an assassin does, Alex.”</p><p>As a reply, it was deeply unsatisfying and not at all what Alex expected. He’d figured that, at best, Ian would remain as silent as he’d been since the <em>Victory</em>. Alex finally looked at him; the interior of the SUV was dark, lit only intermittently as they passed streetlights, but he thought his uncle seemed just… neutral. Not sad, or guilty, or disappointed. Not much different from Aranda and Marcus, the other two sitting in the back with them, except that Aranda was visibly uncomfortable.</p><p>“I can’t say that I like it, but I’m not going to disown you over it,” Ian added when he saw Alex watching him.</p><p>“...Okay.” Alex kind of wished he would. It would hurt but at least it would be a lot faster than walking on eggshells constantly wondering where Ian was going to drawn the line. Ian hadn’t so much as blinked when John volunteered to be the sniper—to keep Helen both close to him and out of the line of fire—but there was a big difference between an older brother and a nephew you’d raised.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Alex checked. Maybe the post-combat adrenaline was making him a little more woozy than he thought, or maybe it was that he’d had about six hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours.</p><p>“Very sure,” Ian said, mouth twitching the slightest smile.</p><p>“Ivey says they’ve just picked up Hunter and your mum,” Marcus reported with one hand on his earpiece. “We’re headed straight for the base from here, so now would be a good time to get some rest.”</p><p>Oh, good, Marcus had noticed. Alex needed to practice hiding things better. He sighed, cast one more reassuring look at Fabrice—who had passed out so fast Alex half-suspected Aranda of slipping him something—and put his head back. He closed tired eyes and watched Yassen fall until the repetition and the rumble of the SUV lulled him into a light, restless doze.</p>
<hr/><p>“—need to?”</p><p>“He wouldn’t thank me for trying to let him sleep. He’s a kid but he’s my boss first.”</p><p>“‘M awake,” Alex said, before it was really true, blinking clouds out of his vision. The world outside the windows was pitch black and the SUV was slowing down. They must be at the lab already. He felt like he’d put his head down only a few minutes ago. “Marcus…” What was priority? Alex forced his brain into gear. “Check on the other teams, get yourselves and my family sorted out. I’m gonna get Fabrice settled back in.”</p><p>Much as Alex wanted Yassen back, he didn’t want to let Fabrice operate the Cutter on anything less than ninety percent functionality, and the man definitely wasn’t there. “When I’m done with him I’ll take one of the assistants’ rooms next to his. Come find me.”</p><p>Alex collected the half-conscious Fabrice, wrangling him down the main hallway past several pairs of guards who all nodded in acknowledgement as they passed. Alex didn’t risk Fabrice’s neck on the stairs, instead putting him in one corner of the freight elevator and hitting the button for the second floor. Once the elevator had rattled to a stop, he went ahead to check Fabrice’s quarters.</p><p>The room had been searched with quick efficiency, clothes and personal items dumped onto the floor right outside the drawers they’d been excavated from. The bed’s mattress had been overturned and all the sheets thrown off. A desk had been moved onto a diagonal to expose a hatch in the floor, a ladder going down. Alex compared his mental map of the facility and decided that the hatch led into that closed-off hall between the escape tunnel and the Cutter’s lab.</p><p>He fixed the bed and moved Fabrice into the room, making sure the man went straight to rest; he did so without any prodding. That settled, Alex left Fabrice to sleep and stood outside in the hallway to radio Marcus.</p><p>“I need someone from—” Sagitta had to be as exhausted as he was. Danube was second best. “Danube down here on Fabrice’s quarters, and make sure it’s Danube in the secret hall on the third level. There’s a tunnel from Fabrice’s quarters into there. I don’t expect trouble but I’m not taking any chances.” </p><p>He had provoked Glaive pretty drastically. They’d covered their tracks out of Boston and Glaive had no reason to suspect they’d gone straight back to a compromised location, but better safe than sorry.</p><p>“Done,” Marcus promised.</p><p>Alex waited with his back against the door until a man he recognized from Danube came to relieve him, then went to the nearest room. It had belonged to one of Fabrice’s lab assistants, though he had no idea which one. He saw the bed and desperately wanted to collapse onto it but he needed to wait for Marcus’ report. Instead he stood in the middle of the room and allowed himself to close his eyes, swaying on his feet as the world rocked gently around him. He’d very nearly fallen asleep like that when someone knocked on the door.</p><p>“Come in,” Alex said, taking a step back to steady himself against the room’s small desk.</p><p>It was Marcus, of course. He was concise, reporting that everything was fine and Alex’s family had been given quarters on the first level. Alex nodded in all the right places. He was sure if there had been anything terribly important he would have caught on, but for the most part the information went in one ear and out the other with very little processing happening in between.</p><p>“Good. Put Hill in charge and get some rest. Yes, I will too.” Alex immediately forestalled Marcus’ advice before he’d even said it. “See you at eight-hundred tomorrow.”</p><p>“Today, technically,” Marcus commented wryly as he went for the door.</p><p>“Don’t remind me.” It was a little past midnight. Alex was sure he’d be able to sleep for sixteen hours straight, but he was going to get less than eight. “Goodnight.”</p>
<hr/><p>In the morning, Alex’s parents and uncle found him on the second floor, standing at the viewing window overlooking the Cutter’s lab. Below, Fabrice directed two SCORPIA soldiers in replacing damaged parts on one of the glass box’s articulated arms.</p><p>“So, that’s what brought us here,” John said, stepping up next to Alex. Helen went to his other side and unhesitatingly put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>She could feel him tensing up, his shoulder rising slightly. Maybe because he didn’t like feeling ‘surrounded,’ or maybe because he was unused to people touching him. She’d noticed that nobody really did. Either way, she didn’t let go and after a moment he managed to relax again.</p><p>“Part of it,” Alex said, glancing quickly between John and Helen and catching a glimpse at Ian behind them as he did. “It’ll be ready to operate as soon as they’re done down there.”</p><p>“Is the glass important or is it a mad scientist thing?” Ian asked, moving up next to John to watch the proceedings below.</p><p>“The glass is important for insulation or something. The arms are a scientist thing.”</p><p>Fabrice finally proclaimed the repairs good enough after the arm attached to the glass pane—still cracked and pocked where it had been hit by bullets, but not broken due to its sheer thickness and strength—had gone through its entire range of motion twice.</p><p>“Anyone who wants to have children some day should leave the lab,” Fabrice said, going for the door himself. The ‘secret’ door. Alex guessed sourly that he’d often used the hatch through his room as a convenient shortcut between levels rather than walk all the way to the main staircase, which had led to the ‘secret’ passage becoming compromised.</p><p>“Uh,” John said. “Do we need to be worried about that?”</p><p>Alex shrugged tightly. “Some kind of radiation. One exposure won’t kill you but it adds up. Try not to need too many X-rays from now on.”</p><p>John leaned back and made a questioning face at Helen behind Alex’s head. She rolled her eyes and mouthed <em>I’ll handle it</em> at him. She’d find out from Fabrice exactly what kind of radiation and how much.</p><p>John rocked forward again, chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Did you consider for a second that you might be able to leave SCORPIA with Yassen gone?”</p><p>Anger flared up, not the blinding mindless kind he’d been fighting with yesterday but just a simpler, more familiar <em>how dare you? </em> laced with an accusing undercurrent of <em>you, specifically</em>. He controlled it, freezing in place until it passed. Only when it was gone was Alex able to consider why John might dare.</p><p><em>It’s a test</em>, said the cold, analytical part of himself. <em>This is a test, like Yassen does.</em> Alex was forced to remember that John had taught at Malagosto, that he was intimately familiar with SCORPIA’s double-talk and games and <em>tests</em>.</p><p>But it was an easy one. John had waited to ask until after Yassen’s resurrection was within reach, which meant that he wasn’t trying to talk Alex out of it—he would’ve done it a lot sooner if so. John had to already know the answer, in part if not in whole. Then why?</p><p>His mother’s hand on his shoulder tightened when John asked. The answer was important to her because—because she didn’t have it yet, even though John did. She needed to hear it and John wanted her to hear it from Alex.</p><p>“I’m never leaving SCORPIA,” Alex said flatly. His hand brushed down the SCORPIA-branded black BDUs he’d dressed in that morning without even thinking about it. He owned very little clothing that didn’t have scorpion logos on it somewhere. Out of the breast pocket he removed the flattened bullet he’d been carrying around like a token, and set it down on the little shelf created by the inset viewing window. </p><p>“That’s the bullet that killed him. It was aimed at me and he put himself in front of it. Yassen's saved my life more times than I can count, probably more than I even know about. He <em>trusts</em> me to do the same for him. I’m not going to turn my back on him, not even for you.” Then, because that sounded a little harsh when said aloud and Alex was afraid Helen might start crying and he’d have no idea what to do, he added, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Thankfully, Helen didn’t seem that broken up about it. She shifted to put her arm around him and laid her head against his shoulder. It felt like something Jack would have done if she were here. There was no one else around, not even Sagitta, so Alex let himself lean into it.</p><p>Fabrice reappeared from the thick locking doors at the left end of the corridor, hurrying over to the console in front of the viewing window at a speedy shuffle. “It’s all set up,” he said eagerly as he began flicking switches and checking readouts from the computer monitors. He didn’t seem to notice his audience’s melancholy atmosphere. “I assume you want Mister Gregorovich first?” He picked up the clipboard with its tape strips and gauze, which had been sitting on top of the console.</p><p>“No. Second one down first. Test run.” If something had been damaged, Alex didn’t want it going wrong for Yassen.</p><p>Fabrice shrugged and pulled the dried bloody gauze off the tape. He put it in a compartment in the console, about the size of a playing card, and slid a little door closed over it. He checked the clipboard for its numbers, typing them into another monitor, and went through a few more steps with no immediately discernible purpose.</p><p>“Calibrations complete,” Fabrice announced. “Target locked on.” He moved to the end of the console, putting a hand on the big breaker-like switch there. “Executing in three… two… one.” He pushed the switch up until near the top it sounded a loud, chunky <em>click</em> and jerked back down.</p><p>In the lab, light flared inside the enclosed glass cube. Alex put a hand on the window, unable to stop himself.</p><p>“Readings are within parameters,” Fabrice said, talking to basically no one since all the Riders were still enraptured in the light slowly fading from the lab. “Lifting insulation barriers….”</p><p>The sides and top of the glass cube all lifted on their arms, disappearing into the high ceiling. There in the middle of the platform was one very confused man in a SCORPIA combat uniform.</p><p>Alex was already on his radio, saying, “Dima. Come in and get your commander out. Tell him I said thanks for playing guinea pig.”</p><p>The big doors across the lab opened and half a combat team came in to help escort their recently undeceased member out.</p><p>“I can do three more before we risk stressing the generators too much,” Fabrice reported after checking some readings.</p><p>“Mister Gregorovich next,” Alex said, butterflies rioting in his stomach. Even after watching it go right, he still felt like something bad was inevitable. “First one on the list.”</p><p>The process was faster this time, Fabrice moving over the console with practiced ease. He paused at the end with the switch, glancing at Alex. “Did you want to…?”</p><p>Alex swallowed and shook his head. “No. Thank you.” Fabrice knew what he was doing. Even if it was as simple as flicking a light switch, Alex wanted the <em>professional</em> light-switcher on the job.</p><p>Another heavy click from the console’s final lever, and light flared again in the Cutter’s glass cube.</p><p>“Readings are within parameters,” Fabrice said again. The words were barely out of his mouth before Alex was pushing past his family and breaking into a dead run for the doors.</p><p>He slowed to a quick walk just before he rounded the corner and got in sight of the combat team, knowing Yassen would not approve of the blatant display of emotion. Even trying not to, he threw open the doors with more than the necessary force. The insulating glass was just being lifted away, and standing there was Yassen, still blinking the bright lights out of his eyes and holding a knife he’d drawn on instinct upon suddenly finding himself in an unfamiliar situation.</p><p>Alex stopped a few paces away, feeling like he might vibrate right out of his skin with tension. Couldn’t throw himself at Yassen—not just because Yassen might stab him out of surprise, but also because there were other people around. So Alex just stood there, probably grinning like an idiot if the ache in his face was any indication, and drank in the sight of him alive and breathing without a hole in his heart.</p><p>Yassen’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark room well enough to see Alex. His head tilted, taking in the lab at a glance. He sheathed the knife and said, “Ah. An unlucky shot.”</p><p>“You’re not allowed to die unless it’s of old age and boredom,” Alex told him. He had to tip his head back slightly to keep the welling tears from falling. He didn’t like that he was crying but couldn’t help it; he wasn’t that concerned about it. “And honestly, maybe not even then.”</p><p>“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’re not in charge yet.” Yassen was smiling as he stepped off the platform. “Good work, Alex.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for <strong>what you have tamed</strong>." - Antoine de Saint Exupery, <em>The Little Prince</em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. the gift of growing old</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You are becoming spoiled,” said Yassen, stern but resigned.</p><p>Alex ignored him and squeezed tighter until Yassen patted him on the head and started pushing him away. </p><p>“Alright, enough. Twice in two days, what are you, a child?”</p><p>They were back in the room Alex had slept in last night, waiting while the generators recovered to resurrect the rest of SCORPIA’s dead.</p><p>“You’re lucky I didn’t do it in front of the teams,” Alex muttered, finally letting go and taking a step back. His eyes were burning again although thankfully it didn’t feel like any tears were going to fall. Yassen would <em>really</em> be disappointed then.</p><p>“Thank you for your restraint,” Yassen said dryly. He moved deliberately, changing gears as he leaned against the desk. Alex ignored the desk chair and chose to hop up and sit on top of the dresser instead. “I spoke to the team leaders while you were overseeing the Cutter’s operation.”</p><p>Alex held his breath. The verdict was coming.</p><p>Some people were surprised to learn that Yassen had a secret flair for the dramatic, which came out when he thought he could get away with it. Alex figured those people just didn’t pay close enough attention—sensible down-to-earth people didn’t become assassins, for one, and for another did they think that all that drama just happened around him accidentally? The man had hunted down Sayle <em>in a helicopter</em> to save Alex’s life.</p><p>So Alex knew Yassen kept his expression unreadable until the last possible moment just to build the tension, although knowing didn’t particularly help relieve it.</p><p>Then the corner of Yassen’s mouth twitched—<em>approval</em>—and he said, “You did very well. You impressed Commander Hill, and that is not an easy task, although he did express displeasure at not getting to kill more of Glaive’s men.”</p><p>“Did anyone tell him we blew up their boat?”</p><p>“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Yassen said, sarcastic. More chiding he said, “If you start ending all your operations with artillery and ordinance, you’re going to ruin SCORPIA’s reputation for subtlety.”</p><p>“Three times is not all,” Alex complained. “And once was basically under orders from Doctor Three.” He frowned as a thought occurred to him. If Yassen thought he’d done well, that meant that Marcus probably hadn’t told Yassen about Alex’s quick deterioration into near-psychosis. Marcus shouldn’t be keeping things like that from Yassen, not even for Alex’s sake, and now Alex couldn’t mention it without getting Marcus into trouble…</p><p>As if he’d read his mind, Yassen broke through Alex’s reverie to say, “Marcus also indicated that you had some difficulty dealing with my death in a stable way.”</p><p>Alex fixed his gaze down on his knees woodenly. Yassen had put too much work into Alex’s survival to approve of Alex throwing it all away for revenge. He stole a quick glance, enough to note that while Yassen wasn’t happy, he at least wasn’t immediately preparing some painful lesson to teach Alex the error of his ways.</p><p>Quietly Alex said, “I might just about be able to deal with it, eventually, if you died. I never imagined I could survive Ian dying until I had to. But... not if you died for me. I’ll never accept that.”</p><p>“I have never planned on dying for you,” Yassen replied evenly. The unspoken corollary was that he had, anyway. Things happened outside of Yassen’s plans.</p><p>“Good,” Alex smiled. “And I don’t plan on dying either, so let’s both just agree to stay alive, alright?”</p><p>Yassen did that thing where he laughed at Alex with just his eyes. “Agreed.” His gaze narrowed as Alex moved, shifting his balance forward. “Don’t hug me again.”</p><p>It was more than Alex had let himself imagine to see Yassen so vibrant and <em>alive</em> again. Any of Alex’s earlier lingering exhaustion had been wiped away; he decided it had been too long since Yassen beat him up in the name of ‘training.’ They needed to make sure Yassen had come back from the dead with all his skills intact, and that was the excuse Alex was sticking to. </p><p>“Stop me,” he challenged with a grin, and hopped off the dresser.</p>
<hr/><p>It wasn’t often that Alex got to see someone’s first reaction to seeing Malagosto. His mother commented on the beautiful countryside during the short drive from Abu Dhabi; his father told her anecdotes about the original island in Italy; and Ian kept up a stonewalled reserve. Alex could practically hear him thinking unkind things about all the blood that had bought such a scenic compound.</p><p>He might not be willing to disown Alex, but it was clear that he’d never actually approve or like it. Alex could live with that.</p><p>The guards at the gate took one good look at Yassen in the passenger seat and waved them through without checking the rest of the car. One of SCORPIA’s two remaining board members could drive up with whatever or whoever the hell he wanted in his back seat. Ivey drove them up to the main building and parked, staying in the car while Yassen, Fabrice, and all four Riders spilled out.</p><p>A guard came out from under the large canopy shading the doors of the main building, squinting at them in the bright sunlight. “Doctor Fabrice? I’m to take you to your quarters and lab.”</p><p>Fabrice seemed excited to be going, although he took a moment to shake Alex’s hand and thank him again.</p><p>They went inside as soon as Fabrice and his suitcases—including the Cutter’s black case—were loaded up into a cart and on their way. Yassen was in the lead with Alex a step behind, Ian nearly right next to him, and John and Helen bringing up the rear.</p><p>“Were those greenhouses?” Alex heard his mother ask in a puzzled undertone.</p><p>“Poisonous and medicinal plants,” John replied at the same volume.</p><p>“Oh. I should have guessed.”</p><p>Oliver d’Arc met them in the broad, empty atrium of the main building. Beside Alex, Ian’s back stiffened; that wasn’t because of d’Arc, but because he’d recognized the woman standing next to the principal.</p><p>“Alex!” Jack exclaimed with a grin, hurrying over to him while Yassen and d’Arc went off to the side. She threw her arms around him. D’Arc was too nearby, so he didn’t return the hug with the desperation he really wanted to, but he did allow a small smile and hoped she got the message.</p><p>Jack pulled away after and looked over his shoulder at the other Riders. Her eyes settled on Ian last, probably on purpose—he was the one she had words for.</p><p>“Hello Ian,” she said evenly.</p><p>“Hello Jack,” Ian returned, visibly bracing for impact.</p><p>“Looking pretty lively for a dead man,” Jack observed tightly. Her tone suggested that she might want to fix that.</p><p>“Look. I’m sorry about how I handled things, but to be fair—it’s not like I planned on dying.” Ian sounded pained.</p><p>“Seems like you should have,” Jack said, voice curt and eyes narrowed.</p><p>“She’s got you there, E.” John butted in. He took a step forward, dragging Helen along with him by dint of the arm he had over her shoulders. He stuck out a hand and said, “Hi, John Rider. I hear you’re the one who was mostly responsible for raising my son.”</p><p>Jack waited a beat, still giving Ian an evil look, before she turned to John with a smile and shook his hand. “Finally, some credit where it’s due. Jack Starbright, nice to meet you. I can’t believe I’m meeting you, actually. When they told me about—<em>this</em>, I thought they were pulling some sort of joke at first.”</p><p>“Helen,” Alex’s mother introduced herself, shaking Jack’s hand next. She smiled warmly and said, “Thank you.”</p><p>John snorted. “SCORPIA's not known for it's practical jokes."</p><p>“Yes, but ‘bad joke’ seemed way more likely than the truth,” Jack said. She hesitated a moment, then huffed and turned back to Ian to say, “I am glad you’re alive. I just think you’re really stupid for being a secret agent for MI6. Do you know what they did to Alex?”</p><p>“He knows,” Alex assured her quietly, pulling her back by one arm. “I let him read the mission files on the way here.” It had been necessary to keep the Riders occupied while he caught up on work. Helen got a smartphone and a quick tutorial on how to use it; John and Ian got abbreviated and Yassen-approved briefings on current world state and espionage affairs.</p><p>“I never imagined that Blunt could be that much of a bastard,” was all Ian could say in his defense.</p><p>“And it’s just lucky that you happened to be training Alex as a spy?” Jack demanded, yanking her arm out of Alex’s grip to get up in Ian’s face.</p><p>“It wasn’t like that, Jack,” Alex said before Ian could. This was something he was almost certain of. “Look, I’ve told you before, he was just trying to protect me or teach me how to protect myself. C’mon, you know him, he’s careful and he doesn’t take risks—he wouldn’t even start the car without everyone’s seat belt buckled in.”</p><p>“Actually that’s probably because our dad died in a car accident,” John said. Alex’s head swiveled to him, surprised. He knew virtually nothing about his grandparents on either side, except that his mother was an orphan and his father’s parents were both dead. John added, “Of course, the ‘accident’ was organized by the Soviets, but he still would’ve survived if he’d had his seat belt on. Not many people wore them way back then.”</p><p>Honestly, in this moment Alex felt more betrayed by the fact that Ian had never told him anything about their family than about the spy thing.</p><p>“Alex is right,” Ian said, his voice soft. “I just—I didn’t have anything else to teach him.”</p><p>MI6 had been Ian’s whole life. He’d never dated as far as Alex knew—and as he’d been a very nosy child, he was sure he would have known about any serious relationship. Ian had never spoken about any friends outside of work, never joined a local football league or had any other sort of hobbies.</p><p>It occurred to Alex that that was going to be his life in SCORPIA. Experience so far had taught him that there were worse fates.</p><p>They were saved from a somber silence by the return of Yassen, d’Arc tagging along behind him.</p><p>“Orion,” d’Arc greeted with a brief smile, and then a wider one for John. “And Hunter! And this must be the lovely wife.” He shook John’s hand and kissed the back of Helen’s. “And the brother,” a bit less enthusiastically, probably because Ian had never been anything but an enemy to SCORPIA.</p><p>“Doctor Three is waiting for us upstairs,” Yassen said, reminding. That was practically impatient by his standards.</p><p>Alex went to follow, and was stopped when Yassen said his name in a certain tone. Alex’s eyes widened, half outrage and half pleading. Yassen shook his head, and then it was just Jack and Alex in the atrium.</p><p>“So,” Jack said, “You hungry?”</p><p>Alex made an annoyed noise, still not over being left behind. He relented, “I could eat.”</p><p>“Good! You can tell me all about how all this happened while we get lunch.”</p>
<hr/><p>The door closing behind them only felt a little like a cell door slamming shut. They had been led into a mid-sized conference room with wood-paneled walls and space for up to ten people, so it wasn’t comically empty or over-full. </p><p>Helen had to fight down a fit of nervous giggles imagining a bunch of assassins using it to update each other on how their assignments had gone and divvy up new ones. That definitely wasn’t how they actually handled things, but it was the first thing she imagined when she saw the big wooden conference table and the plush black leather chairs circled around it, four on either side and one at each end.</p><p>One of the chairs on the far side was already occupied by a small, grandfather-like Chinese man with jet black hair. He was smiling so warmly that Helen almost offered one back, until she remembered that Yassen had said <em>Doctor Three is waiting</em>, connected that to the only person waiting in this room, and remembered the few things John had said about the doctor.</p><p>Suddenly his smile took on a sinister cast.</p><p>“Hunter,” the old man said as they filed in, “How nice to see you again.” He didn’t even sound like he was being facetious; as far as Helen could tell from tone it was absolutely genuine.</p><p>Yassen went around to Doctor Three’s side of the table and sat with one chair of separation between them. John and Ian moved without even looking at each other to sit on either side of Helen, putting John right across from Doctor Three and Ian across from Yassen. </p><p>In an ordinary situation Helen might be indignant about all the overbearing macho-testosterone shuffling her around between them as guards, but this was not an ordinary situation. Even with the both of them to shield her she felt the doctor’s gaze like an X-ray, damaging radiation included.</p><p>“Sir,” Hunter said with a short, respectful nod. </p><p>In the instant they’d walked into the room, the man she’d married was gone. Helen had been warned it was coming and was still unnerved at the extent of the change. Hunter was emotionless, or so good at hiding it that it made no difference. Hunter was ice cold and moved with the flowing liquid grace of a panther. Hunter didn’t reach for her hand under the table.</p><p>Ian did, his arm barely moving. He squeezed twice, which was John’s usual signal for ‘everything is okay.’</p><p>“I suppose we’re here to decide what to do with all of you,” Doctor Three said, propping his elbows up on the chair’s arms and lacing his fingers together in front of him as he leaned back.</p><p>“The Riders have been very cooperative,” Yassen said. “Orion reports that Hunter and Ian were instrumental in Fabrice’s recovery.”</p><p>“As clean an operation as I’ve come to expect from him,” Doctor Three said. He was looking at the Riders while speaking to Yassen. “Despite the original setbacks.” He smiled, making a wistful little humming noise of appreciation. “And what a <em>message</em>. We shall have to re-evaluate future dealings with Glaive.”</p><p>Ian’s grip grew progressively more tense in Helen’s as the two of them went back and forth like their guests weren’t even in the room. She had to assume it was a show for their benefit, or possibly a test of patience.</p><p>“I agree, but Glaive isn’t what we’re here to discuss,” Yassen said, perhaps attuned to the rising tension.</p><p>“So it’s not.” Doctor Three’s eyes gleamed amiably, wrinkling at the corners. “Hunter.”</p><p>Hunter inclined his head the tiniest amount and said, “Doctor.”</p><p>“The last time you were here, you were working undercover for MI6.”</p><p>“I was.” No hesitation, no apology. <em>Shouldn’t he try to sound more remorseful? </em> Helen wondered, heart thundering in her chest. She hoped John knew what he was doing.</p><p>“I am expected to believe that you would betray your years of loyal service to MI6 so quickly? Knowing how well you play a long game?”</p><p>Hunter had his hands on the table, one over the other, wrists resting on the edge. They didn’t move or fidget as he considered his reply for a long, strained moment.</p><p>“Respectfully, sir,” which was something people only said when what they were about to say next was not going to be respectful at all, “You wouldn’t be in the same room with me if you had any real doubts.”</p><p>Doctor Three’s eyes lost their warmth, wiping away the veneer of a kindly grandfather to reveal the cold-blooded snake beneath. “Humor me,” he said.</p><p>“My family has always come first,” Hunter’s hands spread out like he was laying out cards, one moving farther than the other toward Helen and Ian. “And they’re all here.”</p><p>Doctor Three smiled again, but with those cold dead eyes this time it looked more like someone was pulling up the corners of a corpse’s mouth. His gaze moved away from Hunter, over Helen for an interminable time—she knew suddenly and intensely what it was to be a single-cell organism under the microscope—and then on to Ian.</p><p>“Ian Rider,” Doctor Three said. “You may prove to be something of a challenge.”</p><p>Ian’s hand pulled away from her, and Helen knew Ian was about to do something really stupid. “What if I <em>promise</em> not to be?” he asked insincerely.</p><p>Yassen’s expression turned sharp and angry in warning; Hunter stirred in his seat as if he was about to get up and do something. Helen had no idea what, but she was sure it wouldn’t have been good for Ian, because Hunter only settled back down when Doctor Three held up a staying hand.</p><p>“I prefer to have greater insurance than the word of an enemy agent. You will all three be implanted with an actively transmitting tracker. You will not leave the designated area without prior clearance and, if necessary, an escort. You will not contact anyone from your past. These are the most basic of my terms. Do you understand?”</p><p>Ian was blazing with barely restrained anger. It was too much, too fast, too unlike him. Unless, Helen realized, it had been brewing up for days like a hurricane out at sea finally making landfall. <em>Not now</em>, Helen prayed, twisting her hands together.</p><p>Then Hunter leaned back and reached around behind Helen to grab Ian by the ear and drag their heads together, both chairs spinning on their wheels and tilting dangerously.</p><p>Helen froze, wide-eyed with surprise, biting her lip, as Hunter snarled low, “Alex is already going to pay for that stupid comment. My wife and my son are on the line. If you keep talking, I will kill you myself.”</p><p>They couldn’t hear it—<em>Helen</em> could barely hear it, and it was going on right behind her head—but Doctor Three had a sadistic expression of satisfaction and Yassen looked like he might even have relaxed slightly, although mostly he was as unreadable as ever.</p><p>“Get over yourself and calm the fuck down,” Hunter hissed, before releasing Ian with a final shove for emphasis.</p><p>They both straightened back upright, repositioning chairs against the table. Helen stole a quick glance to see Ian’s jaw was tense, the muscles in his neck standing out with strain, his eyes almost half-lidded. Hunter had returned to his previous emotionless facade as if nothing had happened.</p><p>Hunter said, “Understood, sir.” </p><p>Ian echoed with a clipped, unenthusiastic, “Understood.”</p><p>Attention turned to Helen, surprising her. So far she’d been dismissed as not much more than an attachment to John. She wasn’t sure she <em>wanted</em> to be considered an independent agent, not while under the eyes of people like Doctor Three. But if they were asking, she was going to participate.</p><p>She cleared her throat and said, “I understand.” And then, before anyone could move the focus away from her, she asked, “Will we be able to see Alex? Can he come visit?”</p><p>Doctor Three was wearing his nice old man mask again. Helen still couldn’t see the seams. “Why, that will depend entirely on your good behavior—and his—but I don’t see why not. A boy should always get to know his parents.”</p>
<hr/><p>Later that evening John followed Ian down to the shore. The setting sun stained the Persian Gulf beautiful glassy colors, not that that was something either of them noticed. Ian had pulled off his shoes and socks and waded up to his knees in the shallows, so John did the same and joined him out there, where distance and the water meant that SCORPIA probably didn't have any bugs listening</p><p>Ian was silent for a long minute. Then he put his hands in his pockets, half-turned to glance at John and said, “Think he bought it?”</p><p>John mirrored him, though he cast his gaze back toward Malagosto proper. “Seemed to. Still, Doctor Three’s as suspicious as they come. God could come down from Heaven and announce that the weather’s going to be sunny tomorrow and he’d still make plans for rain, snow, and sandstorms.”</p><p>Ian grunted unhappily, lifting one hand to rub at his ear. “Been a while. I was worried we’d be a bit out of practice.”</p><p>“You were laying it on a little thick,” John teased with a grin.</p><p>“How would he know? Anyway, we never agreed you’d pull my bloody ear off.” Ian turned again, letting John see his annoyance. “You <em>know</em> how much I hate it.”</p><p>John’s lips thinned, but he didn’t apologize. “It had to be real. You saw him, he wasn’t buying anything before that, and after we had him eating it up.”</p><p>“Because the man’s a sadist,” Ian said, nose wrinkling in distaste. “But you’re right that he seemed to like it too much. Does he know…?”</p><p>John nodded shortly. “He knows mum used to do it to us.” He reached up to his own ear, feeling for the old ridged scars inside the curve. Their mother had had long, sharp nails. “He doesn’t miss much in RTI, and that wasn’t a piece of information I was focused on protecting.”</p><p>Ian sighed, some tension bleeding away. “I thought we’d be done with those games when we got out of her house.”</p><p>“I dunno, Ian. I never stopped playing.”</p><p>Ian stared out over the water for a moment. Eventually he admitted, “I guess I didn’t either. She’s dead, you know. Didn’t get the chance to say it before.”</p><p>“Really? What of?”</p><p>“Heart attack, the lawyers said.”</p><p>“Like hell, she never had one.”</p><p>“It’s on the death certificate and everything. When Alex was three. Actually, she tried to make up to me when he was still a baby. Say sorry for how it all turned out. Blamed all of it on you, even worse than usual, I suppose since you were dead and couldn’t defend yourself. She said she wanted to be in Alex’s life.”</p><p>John snorted bitterly. “Wanted him for decoration, more like. Bet her friends had lots of lovely little grandbabies to show off, and there’s her with two sons who bailed out into the armed forces rather than spend one more day under her roof. God, let’s stop talking about the old witch. We passed the last hurdle, SCORPIA’s bankrolling our retirement. What’re you gonna do?”</p><p>“San Lorenzo, one of those islands, right? Depends on what’s out there to do. Never had to think about it, really. You?”</p><p>“Always liked teaching,” John smiled a little, wistful. “So I suppose a teaching position somewhere. And Helen, well, everywhere needs nurses, although she’s pissed she has to renew her license again so soon.”</p><p>“It’s been almost two decades, medicine has changed.” Ian pointed out. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe retire for real. Jones was on me for years about getting a desk job.”</p><p>“Bit late for it but you could find a—someone to settle down with,” John suggested, editing himself mid-sentence.</p><p>“Subtle,” Ian congratulated him sarcastically. “Alex had more tact when he was ten—he came home from school one day to tell me how he’d be supportive if I liked ‘other boys.’ Eventually I figured out his new classmate had two dads and he was concerned I was holding myself back on his account.”</p><p>John shifted, nudging his shoulder into Ian’s with a little more force than necessary and grinning. “So?” he asked.</p><p>“So, nothing. I’m not interested, never have been.” Ian crossed his arms, mouth twisting. “It suited me well for work, although I might find myself with a little too much time on my hands now.”</p><p>“Me’n Helen can keep you busy, I’m sure. You heard the terms—we’re literally not allowed to leave a certain radius of each other.” John nudged at Ian again, trying to get him to relax.</p><p>Ian batted him away, though he was smiling again. “Oh, yes, I remember now. I wonder if Shale will shoot me yet if I ask nicely.”</p><p>John shoved him into the water in retaliation, then got tripped and dragged down with him. They let up only when both had been thoroughly dunked, sitting in the water up to their ribs. John looked around, noting that nobody had come along to witness the indignity, then back to Ian with a smirk.</p><p>“So… say we fought over it and made up?”</p><p>“I don’t know how else to explain coming back soaked like this. Come on, help me up. I’m not as young as you are.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re going to be milking that,” John groaned, hauling Ian to his feet with one arm.</p><p>“Earned it, didn’t I? I got most of the way into the future the hard way, not by skipping two decades.”</p><p>“Come along, grandfather, dinner and your prune juice awaits.” John slung an arm over Ian’s shoulders. “And after that—the quiet life on a non-extradition island country, growing old, fat, and lazy.”</p><p>“I sincerely doubt any life with you and Alex in it is going to be quiet,” Ian replied, but he seemed content anyway, and together they returned to Malagosto and Alex and SCORPIA’s pragmatic embrace.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I might have grown to be a sailor on the seven seas,<br/>And save the hero of the story from the belly of the beast,<br/>But the knight would get the credit, and the damsel, and the gold,<br/>And all I get’s <strong>the gift of growing old</strong>.</p>
</blockquote>— House Phone, <a href="https://soundcloud.com/housephoneband/drinking-song">
  <em>Drinking Song</em>
</a><hr/><p>From the blooper reel:</p><p><strong>Alex, in another room</strong>: hey dad can you come in here for a sec?</p><p>  <strong>John, Ian, and Yassen all stand up simultaneously. They glare at each other and conduct an entire conversation through silent but emphatic gestures.</strong></p><p><strong>Alex, poking his head in</strong>: sorry bio father and uncle father, I meant gun father.</p><p><strong>Helen</strong>: When will they learn that Alex likes to cause trouble on purpose.</p><hr/><p>John and Ian planned the whole thing in the meeting with Doctor Three, to prove John is willing to work with SCORPIA and keep Ian in line if needed. When they were younger their emotionally abusive mother liked to pit them against each other, but as they got older they worked together behind her back to 'fake' it and play along so that at least one of them was always getting the 'good child' treatment (usually Ian) instead of pushing back and both suffering.</p><p>I sort of wish I had more space and plot to explain my Rider headcanons, but the plot has run out and I'm not going to have characters sit around a room expositioning at each other. It's just unrealistic! Next up is the fluffy epilogue scenes, so have a toothbrush and some floss handy or you'll be needing to make an appointment with the dentist.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. an invincible summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John was pleasantly surprised to find Alex waiting for him in the armored car outside the airport.</p><p>“Not too busy to pick up your old man?” he asked, handing off his only luggage, a carry-on bag, to Mace so that he could buckle himself in.</p><p>“Yassen cleared me some time,” Alex replied, biting back a smile. John immediately noted a strange, reserved air about him. Kid was hiding something. “So… was there one specific thing that got you kicked out, or was it a whole pile of things?”</p><p>John decided to let Alex tell him in his own time, pretending not to have noticed. Instead he sighed sadly and said, “It’s the pregnancy hormones,” shaking his head. “They’re making your mother crazy.”</p><p>“That’s not the way she and Ian are telling it.”</p><p>“Okay, they’re making me crazy. I was with SCORPIA last time she went through this, and <em>apparently—</em>” he scowled, playing it up, “—she prefers that arrangement to having me, quote unquote, <em>hovering</em> twenty-four seven.”</p><p>“Mhm,” Alex hummed agreeably, “Well, you’re welcome at Malagosto until she wants you back. Yermalov and Ross have been arguing over who gets to monopolize your time, so you’ll be busy.”</p><p>John scoffed and demurred, “I’m hardly up to standard anymore. It’s been more than two years since I was in the field, I’m out of practice.”</p><p>“All the requests for arms and ammunition that pass my desk would argue otherwise. You’re not getting a grenade launcher, by the way. There isn’t even anywhere you can fire something like that on San Lorenzo.”</p><p>“That one was Helen,” John quickly corrected. “As a joke. I think.”</p><p>“Mhm,” Alex said again, more doubtfully this time. Changing the subject, he asked, “How’s the job going?”</p><p>John grinned and tilted a hand back and forth. “We’re on break right now. It’s great most of the time, but, well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to having students I’m allowed to hit. Some of these teenagers, Alex, you would not believe it.”</p><p>Alex, who had had little to no contact with teenagers since he was fourteen, aside from Tom who he was assured was not normal, shrugged and smiled sympathetically. “Probably not. I got out of that sort of thing pretty early.”</p><p>John, well aware that the only thing Alex hated more than being talked down to was pity, nodded and said lightly, “There’s something to be said for forced maturation through trauma.”</p><p>That got a snort of laughter out of Alex, though right after his mouth twisted sourly and he looked away. A few bracing moments later, he looked back and said, “Tom started his RTI yesterday.”</p><p>That explained both Alex’s presence at Malagosto and the undercurrent of tension.</p><p>“That’s probably part of the reason you’re here, too,” Alex continued. “I mentioned it to mum a couple days ago, then this all happened.” He bent his head, picking at his nails as he spoke. “I told him he didn’t have to go through with it, but Yassen and he <em>both</em> insisted.”</p><p>A few months ago, John had told Tom that there was a reason SCORPIA bothered with RTI; that it was better to have gone through it once already if you wound up needing it. John couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for the advice. As a bodyguard Tom would be a high-value target with a lot of information on Alex, and John wanted Alex as safe as he could possibly be.</p><p>“Anyway,” Alex sat back, glancing up at John, “He’s not going to die if he fails, but Yassen said he won’t be assigned to me either.”</p><p>“Do you think he’s going to fail?”</p><p>“Too soon to tell.” Alex grimaced. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe I’m wrong. Can’t look at this one objectively.”</p><p>“Do you want me in there?”</p><p>“God, no. It’s bad enough I’ll have to look at Crux after. At least Doctor Three’s retired from it.” Alex sighed, relaxed as though a weight had been dropped off of him. He added, with a wry smile, “Plus, imagine the family dinners? Awkward.”</p><p>John nodded seriously. “That’s the reason I usually try to avoid eating with people I’ve tortured. Really cuts down on the bill for all the broken glassware.”</p><p>“Less chance of asking for the butter and getting the butter knife instead,” Alex suggested, grinning now.</p><p>“Exactly,” John agreed, smirking right back.</p><hr/><p>“Do you want to hold her?”</p><p>Alex froze up. He’d been told to expect this, part of him had maybe even hoped for it, but when actually faced with his mother offering up the tiny swaddled bundle he became abruptly certain that he would drop it—her. Or hold her wrong. You could damage babies by holding them wrong, Alex was sure he’d read that somewhere.</p><p>“Here, make sure you support her head,” Helen said, blithe in the face of Alex’s internal panic. She shuffled close to him, cradling the baby between them, and nudged his arms into the right position. “There. A little tighter is fine—she’s been squeezed in much closer quarters, you don’t need to worry about that.”</p><p>The baby slept straight through the transfer without a sound. Her face was tiny and round and so very pink. The peach-colored walls of the windowless nursery could have felt claustrophobic or stifling, but instead they just brought the ethereal warmth in against his skin. Everything was safe in here. Alex would make sure of it.</p><p>He shifted his grip to free a hand, touched her on one pudgy cheek. It was possibly the softest thing he’d ever felt. He murmured quietly, “Hello, Evelyn.”</p><hr/><p>Alex was greeted onto the airstrip by a faceful of humid air and a pleasant breeze promising to whisk it away. A second later, he was also greeted by Elias and one of the other soldiers stationed here.</p><p>“Welcome to San Lorenzo, sir,” Elias said. “I hope your trip was uneventful?”</p><p>Alex continued down the small plane’s stairs to make room for the rest of Sagitta filing out behind him. “Perfectly boring. How’s life on the RET?”</p><p>One of Elias’ eyes twitched. He wasn’t fond of the nickname for his team, but since Alex was his boss, he had to suffer. “It’s never boring, sir. Have you read my most recent update?”</p><p>Alex had, and he proved it by asking Elias questions all the way from the airstrip to the Rider residence—although the government of San Lorenzo knew it as the Burke residence, home to American expat brothers Jonathan and Owen, Jonathan’s English wife Ellen and their lovely daughter Evelyn.</p><p>It was a weekend so Alex got to see his parents, uncle, and little sister and get caught up in person. Evelyn, at two years old, was walking and talking and showed no sign of stopping either anytime soon. She proudly showed Alex her newest collection of shells and neat rocks from the beach, then threw a screaming fit when Helen took her upstairs for her usual nap time.</p><p>Alex watched them go, Helen’s expression absolutely impassive as if there weren’t a howling red-faced demon thrown over one shoulder. “Is she… okay?” he asked.</p><p>He, Ian, and John remained seated around the marble-topped island in the bright, sunlit kitchen. Alex had been poured a glass of what Evie called ‘island juice,’ a purple concoction mixing red and blue juice packets.</p><p>“Kids do that,” Ian said dryly. “It’s worse because she actually is tired and she’s fighting it.”</p><p>The screaming kept going. Evie had lungs big enough to blow down the entire house, it sounded like. Helen called, “John, can I talk to you up here?”</p><p>John got up from his seat, giving Alex and Ian a wink as he went. Almost as soon as Helen had called out, Evie’s yelling had tapered off.</p><p>Alex raised questioning eyebrows at Ian. Keeping his voice down, Ian said, “They’re going to stand outside her door and whisper. She’ll be quiet because she wants to listen to what they’re saying, and as soon as she calms down, she’s out like a light.”</p><p>“Wow,” Alex marveled. “I’m never having kids.”</p><p>“They’re worth it when they’re babies, and then again when you start being able to reason with them,” Ian laughed. “In between is definitely a danger area.”</p><p>“So,” Alex changed the subject unsubtly. “How’s the job? Is the RET working out?”</p><p>Ian’s eye twitched. He also didn’t like the nickname. Alex used it specifically to needle at Ian, because it was largely Ian’s fault that the Rider Enrichment Team had been founded.</p><p>“The job is fine,” Ian said in a clipped tone. “It passes the time and it’s fulfilling enough.”</p><p>Ian had tried actual retirement for their first three weeks on San Lorenzo. That three weeks was all the time he needed to find and consequently get into trouble with a group of human traffickers linked to a Colombian cartel. Yassen came in, cleaned up, and determined that since there had been no survivors there was no need to move the family. Then he assigned a special team to make sure that no one got bored enough to start looking for trouble, and that if trouble found them, it was handled in a quiet and permanent manner.</p><p>Alex had immediately begun calling Elias’ new assignment the Rider Enrichment Team, or RET for short. Both Elias and Ian hated it. They commiserated with each other after each of Alex’s visits.</p><p>Ian’s current position was volunteer work with a group that helped people get out from under debt and predatory lenders. His undercover work with MI6 had required him to learn quite a lot about banking, which served him well, while the compassionate nature of the work scratched the apparently genetic itch to help people. When he inevitably got too bored, Elias would have something else lined up.</p><p>“Work is why I’m here today, actually,” Alex said, reaching into the laptop bag he’d slid onto the island. He pulled out the thin sort of file any spy could recognize. A mission.</p><p>“Alex,” Ian began, strained, “I can’t work for SCORPIA.” No matter how much he missed the field. It was a little cruel for Alex to even ask and wave the temptation in his face.</p><p>“This is different,” Alex said, putting one hand flat on the folder. He didn’t push it toward Ian yet. “Have you heard anything about Rondônia, in Brazil?”</p><p>The way Alex pronounced it with a perfect accent was a pretty big hint. “No, but it’s one of the smaller states so that’s not surprising. I assume you’re involved in something there?”</p><p>“We have been for the last few weeks. Lots of tension between the indigenous people and the colonizer descendants, came to a head in Porto Velho during what was supposed to be a peaceful protest about deforestation. SCORPIA had a vested interest in the area already, so we came in, re-established the peace, and forced everyone to come to the table and be civil with each other.”</p><p>Alex paused for a beat, checking that Ian was still listening. He continued, “I’m using it as proof of concept for a new branch of SCORPIA’s operations that will handle unrest, sort of a community service slash outreach program, and I want you in it.” That was when he slid the file over in front of Ian.</p><p>Ian opened it, his expression blanked out not on purpose but by sheer surprise. </p><p>His instinctive reaction was to say no, because despite everything he still didn’t like his nephew’s job. His next thought was that Alex knew that, he usually avoided any mention of SCORPIA if he could help it just so that he wouldn’t have to see Ian hiding disapproval, and yet he’d presented this to Ian anyway. Which meant he thought it was worth it, and he thought Ian would think so too.</p><p>So Ian read through the file, which detailed his potential new job, while Alex finished his drink and John and Helen came back downstairs and the three of them had a hushed conversation in another room.</p><p>Ian joined them after a little while, file tucked under one arm. He looked at Alex. “I’ll do it,” he announced, “But what the hell kind of codename is Endymion?”</p><hr/><p>Yassen received the binoculars from the crewman without a word, putting them up to his eyes to look closely at the dock. The <em>Fer de Lance</em> was approaching at a gentle pace and the waters around the island were fairly calm, so it wasn’t difficult to keep the lenses focused on the three people waiting on the dock. No more than expected.</p><p>“Stay on course,” Yassen ordered, giving the binoculars back. There were still a few minutes between the boat and the dock, so he went to retrieve his two bags and stage them on the deck. For Yassen this was a big change; two bags constituted traveling heavy. Retirement could do that to a man.</p><p>He had one in each hand when he stepped off the <em>Fer de Lance</em>’s gangplank and onto the dock. The first person to approach him was the little girl, who squirmed out of John’s arms to be let down and raced up to Yassen to shriek through a gap-toothed grin, “Uncle Yassen!”</p><p>Yassen was obliged to drop his things and pick Evie up immediately. John came forward with a smile much like his daughter’s, although he had all his teeth, and picked up the bags. </p><p>Helen was right behind him, leaning up to kiss Yassen on the cheek and say to Evie, “What did we tell you about running on the dock?”</p><p>“Not to,” Evie mumbled, “But I can swim, mummy.”</p><p>“You are brave enough to swim with sharks?” Yassen asked her, feigning amazement. “I’m sure I saw sharks in the water here.”</p><p>“You’d shoot ‘em before they et me,” Evie said with absolute certainty, making a gun with her fingers and sighting down her arm. Little kids played pretend with guns all the time, but they were rarely so true-to-form in their shooting stance.</p><p>Yassen shot a cutting look at John, who laughed nervously and started walking away toward the house that overlooked the private dock. He called back, “Don’t worry, she’s pretty good at keeping secrets.”</p><p>Evie nodded. “I don’t tell anyone at school my real name. It’s Evie Rider. Is Uncle Yassen <em>your</em> real name?”</p><p>Yassen almost told her <em>yes</em>, but paused with the familiar lie on the tip of his tongue. “Actually,” he began slowly, and continued with deliberate savor, “My real name is Yasha. You can call me Uncle Yasha, if you like.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, <strong>an invincible summer</strong>. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back." — Albert Camus</p><hr/><p>My apologies to anyone who is actually Brazilian or even adjacent. Things stated about the area in this fic have no reflection on reality (except that according to Wikipedia there is a large indigenous population and a ton of deforestation).</p><p>Riders start their eavesdropping training young. They're born nosy.</p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Endymion_(mythology)">Endymion</a> is the name of a Greek hunter, shepherd, or possibly king. Look, I just wanted to keep the hunter theme going, alright? Plus, <em>shepherd</em>? Fitting for Ian's new job!</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. they call it peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Glad everyone liked the fluffy epilogues! This... is not like that. But at least I'm not making you wait until tomorrow morning to read it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The house was in a middle-class area on the edge of the city, sat in a row of houses shaped exactly the same. Each one reached for a sense of individuality with decoration, paint, or both; but they all had the same bones. This house’s owner hadn’t bothered to try to express any uniqueness, leaving the outside unadorned but in perfect repair otherwise. It was probably the most unremarkable home on the block.</p><p>None of the nice families living nearby would have guessed that the man who owned it also owned the places to either side, or that the well-dressed young people seen coming and going from those houses weren’t just quiet renters. Every hour they spent ‘at home’ was on the clock and the budget reflected it.</p><p>They weren’t the only line of defense, of course. The security system was so advanced and unfriendly that it wasn’t even on the market. Every entrance, including the windows, was trapped with countermeasures running from ‘painfully non-lethal’ to ‘would have been banned by the Geneva Convention, if they only had the imagination to think it up.’</p><p>And, of course, before you even thought about trying to get in, you first had to find the place. That wasn’t an easy task either.</p><p>Alan Blunt waved to his next-door neighbors and let himself into his house with a normal-looking brass key. He disarmed the security system within the allotted fifteen seconds, re-armed it before the silent alarm triggered, and dropped his key in the bowl on the sideboard. The house was pleasantly quiet but for the hum of the refrigerator and the whisper of air in the vents; a place of calm solitude.</p><p>He turned the corner into his office—a much emptier room now than it had been in years, with his official retirement tomorrow—and stopped in his tracks.</p><p>“Ahh,” sighed the dead man sitting at his desk, as he put his feet up and brandished a sharp and dangerous smile. “I’ve been waiting far too long to see that look on your face.”</p><p>It took a few precious seconds for Blunt’s brain to kick over and restart; that sort of delay was the reason he was retiring. When it did, he knew that this was someone’s idea of a clever little trick, and there was only one person it could be—although he wouldn’t have expected something like this from Alex Rider; the boy was too straightforward to play psychological games.</p><p>
  <em>Unless those rumors were true...</em>
</p><p>Blunt had already pressed the distress button sewn into the lining of his suit. In a few seconds, the front and back doors would be knocked in by restless and over-eager young agents with itchy trigger fingers. All he had to do was stall. It should be easy—you wouldn’t send this look-alike after Alan Blunt for a quick hit. He’d probably been given orders to drag it out. Blunt hadn't even seen a weapon yet.</p><p>“Come in, come in,” the intruder said insistently, waving Blunt forward into his own office. When Blunt didn’t move, he produced a gun and repeated in an admonishing tone, “Don’t make me ask again. Have a seat.”</p><p>Blunt sat in the chair across the desk, an uneasy feeling rising as he did.</p><p>The assassin dropped his feet off the desk. The room didn’t have any windows, although it looked like it did from the outside. It was lit only by the cold daylight-blue bulb in the desk lamp, which cast stark black shadows across half of John Rider’s face as he leaned over the desk and asked, “How does it feel to call for help and realize no one is going to answer?”</p><p>Blunt hit the button again without caring for subtlety this time, but the greater part of him knew it wouldn’t help. They should have been here by now. But he’d just waved to one of them outside so how—</p><p>“This transmitter is supposed to be unblockable,” Blunt said. If nothing else, the devices in his office that were recording this conversation might be able to pass along good information after his death.</p><p>“I’m not blocking it. It’s just not working. Hasn’t been since, oh, two-ish today.”</p><p>At two he’d been meeting with—“Smithers.” Betrayal, from that corner? A serious problem. Smithers’ loss could cripple MI6’s effectiveness, let alone his active defection. He’d always had a regrettable soft spot for the boy. </p><p>“Quick as ever.” The man who looked like John grinned. It wasn’t a nice expression. “Now let’s see if you can guess why I’m here. If you get it in one, you get a little prize.”</p><p>Blunt was uninterested in playing games, so he said nothing. The fear was only just starting to really settle in and take its shoes off. He’d been far longer out of the field than in it.</p><p>The intruder sighed, affecting a mournful expression. He stood, holstered the gun at his hip, and unsheathed a combat knife. It was about as long as the rest of Blunt’s life. He set it down on the desk, the blade gleaming oily and sharp in the light.</p><p>“Okay, let’s try this again. Guess why I’m here.”</p><p>Blunt eyed the knife. It would be stupid to grab it, but it might be his only chance. To keep the look-alike from picking it up again, he said, “Alex Rider sent you for revenge.”</p><p>“Wrong.” It was a quiet condemnation. It continued in a voice as soft as silk, “But I didn’t expect anything more from you.”</p><p>Blunt lunged for the knife while he was talking; faster than a viper striking it was swept away and returned plunged into the back of his hand, pinning it to the desk.</p><p>“You never learned to keep your hands off of what’s not yours,” John hissed, twisting the knife through bones and tendons with a noise like damp pasta snapping. Blunt gave a half-strangled cry behind clenched teeth, panting in short gasps.</p><p>He held onto his wrist to try to stem blood flow as the pain started to really hit, graying out the world around him. He couldn't stop the strangled scream between his teeth, even knowing it wouldn’t help; the walls were soundproofed. The noise of a gunshot could get through but not much else. That was why he’d brought out the knife.</p><p>Blunt slowly became aware that John had been talking this whole time. “—remorse. Show me that you had second thoughts. That it haunted you to send a child, <em>my son</em>, into danger. That’s all I was looking for. A little bit of humanity. But there’s none left in you, is there, Blunt.”</p><p>Blunt gritted his teeth and gasped out, “I don’t regret doing what was necessary.”</p><p>"I know. That's why I have to do this slow." John shook his head and yanked the knife out, careless of Blunt's agony. “I’m not here to teach you the error of your ways. Neither of us has that kind of time. But you'll serve as a warning to everyone else who thought it was a good idea.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Ma’am, the scene hasn’t been fully secured yet,” an agent stopped her on the sidewalk, just inside the lines of police tape. “It’s not safe until the bomb squads and forensics have finished.”</p><p>Tulip thought a bomb was unlikely. This morning she had woken to a <em>Congratulations on your promotion!</em> card on her dining room table. It hadn’t been there last night when she turned in to sleep. It was signed with a plain black scorpion, hand drawn; she had spared a moment of frightened nonsensical thought to imagine Alex practicing the drawing. Maybe they taught it at Malagosto.</p><p>“I’ll be careful about the forensics,” she said, as if she didn’t know very well already who was behind it. The specifics didn’t matter so much; she knew who’d given the order if not exactly who carried it out. “And there won’t be a bomb.”</p><p>The agent didn’t have the authority to stop her, so in she went. Through the open front door into a quiet brown house now swarming with people in forensic suits and booties, shuffling from room to room like ants in a disturbed nest. The body was in the office, laid out on top of a swept-clear desk.</p><p>“I suppose it’s not worth asking for cause of death?” Tulip asked the medical examiner, who was standing nearby with a clipboard making notes.</p><p>“What you see is what you get,” she replied, tipping a corner of her clipboard at the knife in Blunt’s stomach. “Gutted. It wasn’t a fast way to go. No sign of restraint so we expect the tox screen to come back with a paralytic, at least. The other wounds are all peri-mortem.”</p><p>Tulip had not yet gotten close enough to see any other wounds. She approached the body, sensible half-inch heels tapping quietly on the wooden floorboards.</p><p>Alan's face was still twisted up in a rictus of pain. It was the most human-like thing she’d seen from him in years, and it made her feel an unexpected and unwelcome sting of sympathy. <em>Gutted</em>, she thought. That was half the message. <em>Gutted, gutless, coward.</em></p><p>The other half of the message was carved into his chest in big, bloody letters:</p><p>
  <b>NO CHILDREN</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire; and where they make a desert, <strong>they call it peace</strong>."<br/>— about the Romans; quote attributed to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calgacus">Calgacus</a> by Roman historian Tacitus, although Tacitus may have just made up the speech wholesale.</p><hr/><p>They waited until Blunt was one day away from retirement for a two reasons. 1) so that MI6 doesn't think SCORPIA is making a move against them, this is a <em>personal</em> vendetta. And 2) spite. No rest for the wicked, Mr Blunt.</p><p>Smithers didn't fully betray MI6 for SCORPIA, he just hated Blunt so much that, given the opportunity, he happily opened the door for Blunt to be killed.</p><p>Peri-mortem: near time of death. Ante-mortem is before death, post-mortem is after death.</p><p>I wrote this epilogue when I was barely halfway through the rest of the story. Everything was plotted out so I knew we'd get here, and once I had the idea it wouldn't let me go until I'd written it. You can all thank my workload at my real job for this fic, since I write best while avoiding the work I'm actually getting paid for.</p><hr/><p>I've never had this much fun writing for a fandom before, so I've been motivated to kick around the Alex Rider sandbox  a little while longer. Hope y'all like Artemis Fowl too, but who among us didn't read these books back-to-back? Can't have been just me.</p>
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